


Call Me Dandelion

by thegrimmgrimm



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Bisexual Disaster Jaskier | Dandelion, Cursed Jaskier | Dandelion, Exploration of Gender, F/M, Female Jaskier | Dandelion, Genderbending, Genderfluid Character, Geralt Does Not appreciate Jaskier and on god i'm gonna change that, Geralt and Ciri are safely tucked away in Kaer Morhen, Jaskier flirts with everyone, Jaskier has a TEMPER, M/M, Misgendering, Misogyny, Multi, Post-Battle of Sodden Hill, Post-Season/Series 01, Triss Merigold holds my heart in her hands, about 6 months later, for now, talking about our feelings like grown-ups
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 33,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24175432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrimmgrimm/pseuds/thegrimmgrimm
Summary: Jaskier has been cursed. He's not sure why, and he's not sure who by. It was a bit of a laugh in the beginning, but he knows his only way out of it is a witch who'd possibly rather gut him than help him. However, the tales coming out after the battle of Sodden Hill have him thinking she might have learnt a little sympathy for the common man since last he saw her. And besides, she might not even recognise him anymore.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 270
Kudos: 794





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly a proof of concept - lmk if I should continue - I've not planned it out terribly far yet, but i've got some ground to work on if it's worth it?

_Jaskier_

"Oh, excellent. I thought I'd misjudged the sordid clientele of this establishment, but it seems I had the right idea." Jaskier gracefully sprawls himself into the chair across from the ostentatiously dressed mage.

"Who _the fuck_ are you, then?" Incensed, the woman's tone is vicious and the look in her violet eyes cold and hard at the intrusion. 

Ah, so she doesn't recognise him. Jaskier takes a moment to inspect her expression. Anger, yes. Suspicion, yes. Recognition? Not a hint. He hasn't seen hide nor hair of the fearsome woman since a certain devastating day atop a certain dreadful mountain. Though, in the last few months he's heard the whispers of Yennefer of Vengerberg's supposed heroism, and subsequent disappearance, at the battle of Sodden. 

Jaskier had been glad she'd resurfaced before he'd befallen his current affliction, as he isn't particularly well acquainted with any other mages on the continent, and there has been an unnerving shortage after so many of them had fallen in the attack from Nilfgaard.

The mage in question sits in front of him now, glaring, without a damn clue who it is sitting opposite. This might, hopefully, work in Jaskier's favour, though he had just done a lovely job of putting his foot in his mouth. Thinking quickly, Jaskier supplies, "Call me Dandelion." 

He holds out a steady hand to the woman, whose eyes narrow, and makes no move to take the hand offered. Jaskier suspects that the moniker might give the game away, but as the penny still hadn't quite dropped, he has a little leeway to tell his tale before Yennefer runs him out of the inn.

"And what do you want?" The scowl hasn't let up any, but it hasn't deepened either, so Jaskier presses forward in his carefully crafted explanation. 

"I'm in need of a witch's services. I thought you might be the mage for the job." At the request the woman scoffs and leans back in her chair.

"Why would I help you? I'm not some common hedge-witch granting favours." She leans forward towards Jaskier again, voice low. "And my help would come with a price."

Jaskier smiles thinly and places a purse full of coin on the table between them. "Would this suffice? Or is it something else you desire? Blood of a virgin? My firstborn?" 

"Perhaps I should take your tongue." The look in the witch's eyes has grown, if possible, even colder. "What is it you think I'll help you with?"

Jaskier, refusing to react to the threat, continues calmly. "I've a curse, and I'd like to know how to get rid of it, and who put it there."

Yennefer looks as if she's not surprised in the slightest that someone might lay a curse on him, and well, Jaskier's hardly about to argue. "What kind of curse?"

"You're a smart witch, I'm sure you'll figure it out." Jaskier shrugs by way of answer .

The witch rolls her eyes, "I'll need at least something to start with." 

Without a word Jaskier offers his open palm across the table again, smirking slightly, and Yennefer scowls at it for a moment before taking it. Jaskier feels the faint tingles in his fingertips as the magic searches up his arm. 

Curious purple eyes hold his gaze for a moment. "Do I know you?"

"We've met before." Jaskier concedes.

Yennefer's frown deepens, from confusion more so than anger, but she shakes it away after a moment. "Well, you've definitely managed to piss someone off. That's a powerful curse. Old magic. I don't even think it was placed there by a mage."

Jaskier frowns, nodding absentmindedly as his thoughts drift back again, to who (or what) on earth he could have pissed off this badly. At the time it had seemed just a bit foolish, just some fool playing a prank, but the look on Yennefer's face now speaks of darker intentions, which Jaskier hadn't anticipated.

"Who would bother with all that just for me?" Is all Jaskier responds with. 

Yennefer's eyes crinkle slightly at the corners in a small display of cruel amusement, "Perhaps it's just your particular brand of obnoxious confidence. I've half a mind to hex you myself, to teach you some respect." 

It sounds almost like a jibe she would have thrown his way back in the good old days, and Jaskier feels himself respond in turn, before he can stop himself. "Oh, I don't doubt it, I'm simply curious. Unlike some, I have the presence of mind not to blame anyone else for my problems." Jaskier snipes.

"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Yennefer has a that look of calculating suspicion again, glaring into his eyes trying to find an explanation, his hand still gripped tight in hers, which he carefully, gently extracts.

"Nothing personal, I assure you." He backtracks. "I merely meant as a more... universal affliction."

Yennefer's suspicion does not ease, not her stare abate. Jaskier shakes off the familiar feeling of their easy rivalry and threads a hand through his hair. 

"Look, I thought this was just someone having a bit of a laugh, just a bit of fun at my expense. A parlour trick, an easy fix." Jaskier takes in an unsteady breath, worrying for the first time about what the curse might actually _mean_. "But, if it's something serious..."

Yennefer tips her head to the side, as if observing him from a new angle might grant her new perspective. She regards him silently for a moment before turning away and gesturing to someone at the bar. 

A moment later the server, a nervous old man, scurries up to them and bows slightly in Yennefer's direction. "So sorry to keep you waiting. What can I get for you lovely ladies?"

Jaskier flinches slightly at the term of address, but he doesn't think either of them notice, as Yennefer orders a pitcher of ale and some food to the table. 

She sits, still silently observing him, until it is all delivered to the table. "Well, _Dandelion_ , why don't you start at the beginning?"

* * *

_Yennefer_

Yennefer is uncomfortable. The inn, while not as dreadful as she feared, is not as nice as she would like. The company is coarse and the ale only half drinkable, but she'd been warned to keep a low profile. And so, she had dutifully refrained from swanning into the nearest Lord's place like she owned it, and instead forces herself to remain quiet and (mostly) inconspicuous. 

It's also this warning that has Yennefer fighting to remain calm as an obnoxious, overly familiar woman dumps herself into the chair across the table from her. 

"Who _the fuck_ are you, then?" Yennefer glares, taking in the short mousy hair, the drab, poorly-fitting dress. The woman seems tall, taller than herself, and older than she looks. 

The strange woman takes her in, in turn, an oddly thoughtful look on her face. Yennefer is about to impatiently demand an answer when she offers a hand forward with a small smile. "Call me Dandelion." 

Something about the name sparks recognition in the back of her mind, but in the moment she can't place it. She just keeps scowling and asks, "And what do you want?"

There's a glint of something in bright blue eyes as the woman answers, mischief, maybe? "I'm in need of a witch's services. I thought you might be the mage for the job."

Yennefer scoffs loudly and leans herself away from this _Dandelion_. The woman is off to a great start if she's looking for help, nothing but insulting and irritating. 

"Why would I help you? I'm not some common hedge-witch granting favours. And my help would come with a price." Yennefer sneers the last part. A price I'm doubtful you could afford, she thinks to herself.

She forces down her reaction of surprise when the woman pulls out a heft coin-purse and lays in between them on the table with a mirthless smile. "Would this suffice? Or is it something else you desire? Blood of a virgin? My firstborn?"

Yennefer's blood runs cold, and again she has to keep her reaction from showing too strongly in her expression. For someone seeking her help, this stranger is truly testing her patience. The statement was innocuous enough, plenty of witches faced the same accusations and assumptions, but this time if felt pointed, personal. But she had no idea _why_. 

"Perhaps I should take your tongue. What is it you think I'll help you with?" She wants to get to the point of this exchange, and swiftly. 

The woman seems completely unaffected by her threat. "I've a curse, and I'd like to know how to get rid of it, and who put it there."

"What kind of curse?" Yennefer can't detect the effects of any spell with a cursory glace, which is curious, but she's by no means doubtful that someone would resort to such a thing in the face of such blatant insolence. 

In a display of that very thing, Dandelion shrugs and taunts, "You're a smart witch, I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Yennefer wonders why the woman is being so tight lipped about it, but just rolls her eyes. "I'll need at least something to start with." She explains, unsure when the irritation she'd been feeling had started to turn into amusement. 

Dandelion stretched her arm across the table again, this time palm up, and Yennefer scowls down at it to avoid the smug smile spreading across the woman's face. With a sigh she takes it between her two hands and closes her eyes for a moment as she reaches in with her magic.

She can feel the chaos thrumming under the surface, as if it's etched into the very pores, the very blood. It's a quiet kind of chaos, which explains why she hadn't been able to sense it before. There's something primal about it, like a force of nature. But she can't find any indication of the source of the magic, nor could she get a clear image of it's effects. 

There's also some deep sense of familiarity this woman seems to feel in her presence. It's not necessarily positive, it sits like a bitter taste in the back of Yennefer's throat, and she wracks her mind for an answer. Their connection seems to be sitting just out of reach, like a dream she's just woken up from. "Do I know you?"

Blue eyes stare back into hers, looking wistful, "We've met before."

Yennefer tries to shake the feeling of deja vu from her head, literally, and gets back on task. "Well, you've definitely managed to piss someone off. That's a powerful curse. Old magic. I don't even think it was placed there by a mage."

The woman thinks to herself for a moment, and in a smaller, much less confident voice than before, muses, "Who would bother with all that just for me?" 

"Perhaps it's just your particular brand of obnoxious confidence." Yennefer holds back a laugh. It seems needlessly cruel to make a jab at the poor woman in such a state but Yennefer can't seem to help herself. "I've half a mind to hex you myself, to teach you some respect." 

For a second it seems like Dandelion shares her amusement, but there's a bitterness in her tone as she responds. "Oh, I don't doubt it, I'm simply curious. Unlike some, I have the presence of mind not to blame anyone else for my problems."

"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" As before, the statement rings with this sense of awareness. Dandelion looks as if she regrets the words as soon as she's said them, and pulls her hand away from Yennefer, who's forgotten she still had woman's hand in her own, her angry grip most likely painfully hard. The humming sound of chaos in Yennefer's ears, that she also hadn't noticed until it was gone, fades away.

"Nothing personal, I assure you. I merely meant as a more... universal affliction." The words do nothing to placate Yennefer, now wondering harder than ever who on earth this stranger is and how she can find no recollection of her, despite some obvious connection she seems to be missing.

"Look, I thought this was just someone having a bit of a laugh, just a bit of fun at my expense. A parlour trick, an easy fix. But, if it's something serious?" Dandelion is beginning to looks concerned for the first time since she sat down, breathing heavily and fiddling with her hair, worrying unconsciously at her bottom lip.

Yennefer considers the woman quietly for a while. She now seems truly distressed about the whole thing, whereas it had been as if it was, as she said, all a bit of a laugh. Yennefer is honestly intrigued and drawn to the strange magic at work, so unlike her own chaos. And, she would be lying if she says she's not also interested in puzzling out the strange woman before her.

She looks away and signals to the innkeeper. They would both need some food and drink before they got the bottom of this, she thinks.

"So sorry to keep you waiting. What can I get for you lovely ladies?" Yennefer fights off a scowl at the pitiful display from the man as he cowers and bows at the sight of her, quickly ordering ale and food and sending him away. She watches Dandelion, the woman's discomfort evident, taking the pitcher when it arrives and pouring out a serve for each of them.

"Well, _Dandelion_ , why don't you start at the beginning?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Next Jas and Yen will be heading to Aretuza together to see if Tissaia or Triss have any idea what kind of funky magic is going on here. They might even become friends 😱


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is still dancing around the truth with Yennefer, and he has a newfound appreciation for the hardships of his bardic sisters on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it seems like people enjoyed it? 😂 have a little more, as a treat
> 
> there's some misogyny/harassment ahead but it doesn't go very far

"The beginning, huh?" Jaskier is still torn on whether he should just come out an tell Yennefer who he is, or let her figure it out on her own. He's not sure which of the two would best prevent the sorceress' ire. The woman herself is watching him patiently, the faintest spark of amusement in her eye, which Jaskier should probably be at least somewhat worried about.

"Well, it was about a month ago." He's gone over the events in his mind so often he feels as if it might be branded into his memories. And yet, most of what he remembers is utterly useless nonsense. "I was just passing though this town on my way up to Oxenfort, stopped at a lovely inn for a meal and a bed. Nothing out of the ordinary, no ugly confrontation or anything."

"You travel alone?" Jaskier scoffs at the question. _I didn't use to,_ he thinks to himself bitterly, eyeing the witch with just a touch of spite, which she thankfully chooses to ignore.

"Sometimes," Is what he says instead. "Anyway, when I woke up I was cursed." Jaskier's still pussyfooting around it. He's just sure that as soon as Yennefer knows the truth she'll put it all together, then just laugh at him and leave him as he is.

Yennefer narrows her eyes at him. "How could you tell?"

"It was fairly obvious," He says evasively, holding back a laugh. "So I spent about a week testing out the uh, _extent_ of the curse." A very enjoyable one at that. Jaskier feels his cheeks heat the faintest amount, he hopes the witch doesn't notice. "Until I realised it wasn't just going to go away, so I planned it out, and came to find you." He gestures magnanimously across the table, trying to ignore the itch of cheap brown linen against his skin as he moves.

Yennefer frowns. "Why would you come to me?"

"Like I said, we've met." Jaskier throws her a guilty look before he continues. "And, it's not exactly the best time to be looking around for strange mages."

Yennefer's lips are a thin line, but she nods, understanding. "You'll forgive me if I can't recall, when you've lived as long as I have, only the important memories tend to stick around."

Jaskier smirks at the easy barb, but it does make him wonder if it was true for him as well. It's only been a couple of years since they last saw each other, but it isn't like he'd been anyone important then. Just background noise in the romantic tragedy that surrounded the witch and-

Well, maybe Jaskier doesn't have to be so careful with his identity after all. "That's quite alright. You probably wouldn't recognise me anyway." This time he does let out a bitter snicker. "The point is, I haven't a clue who might have done this to me, so here I am."

The woman folds her arms across her chest. "Well, like I said, it's very old magic. Chances are if I tried to remove it like any old curse it'd take half of you with it."

Jaskier swallows around a lump in his throat and nods. "So, what now?"

Yennefer eyes him thoughtfully. "For now, it's late and I'm going to retire for the night. Tomorrow, I suppose I could take you for a second opinion. Though I warn you, she might charge double."

She downs the last of her ale, pockets the coin purse, and stands to leave the table. Just before she sweeps away she turns back to Jaskier and says, "At some point you are going to have to stop avoiding telling me what the curse has done to you, you know."

Without waiting for a response, she's gone, and Jaskier is left alone with his thoughts again. She's right, he has no chance of getting the curse removed if he isn't completely honest about what it's actually done to him, but he's not sure how to properly articulate it.

'This isn't my body.' Not exactly true, he supposes, its not like this is anyone _else's_ body. Was it? No, it was Jaskier, for sure. The same blue eyes, the same soft hair, the same callused fingers. Just, different. 'I'm not a woman,' doesn't feel like the right explanation, and it doesn't _quite_ sit right with him either.

Perhaps the only way to do this properly _is_ to reveal his identity. Perhaps only that would make Yennefer understand.

Jaskier finishes his meal and ale quickly, not wanting to linger alone in the tavern section of the inn for too long. He had left his belongings with the innkeeper behind the bar, when he'd spotted Yennefer earlier. He collects them now and books a room, but a longing glance at the empty corner of the room where a bard would play makes him pause, his grip adjusting restlessly on his lute case.

Where's the harm? Perhaps the extra coin could buy him some decent clothes. After a few words to the innkeeper he takes the floor and the patrons eye him dubiously, he's not exactly dressed for a performance.

The skepticism is short-lived, thankfully, as naught but death could take away Jaskier's lovely voice and skill with a lute. He plays the crowd pleasers, nothing too bawdy, or morose, and rouses the occupants into a comfortable merriment before deciding to take his leave.

"Play a lot of that Jaskier's songs, don't'cha, love?" A voice calls from his audience. Jaskier beams at the recognition, and tries not to falter at the sickly tone.

"Why yes, he's my absolute favourite. Such a talent," he laughs to himself and throws a conspiratorial wink to the crowd, before giving them his theatrical, sorrowful goodbyes and making his way back to the bar, for the last time for the evening, he hoped.

"I'm sure I could show you a much better time than that runt of a bard." It's the same voice from before, now right in his ear, just as he's about to turn and head up the stairs to bed.

Jaskier startles, but recovers quickly. He turns to face his interloper and looks him up and down. There's nothing particularly noticeable about the man, save for his atrociously bad breath and body odor.

"I'm sure you absolutely could not." Part of him bristles at the comment, but mostly he's just too tired to bother. "I'm quite content with my own company this evening, thank you very much."

This is the wrong thing to say. Insulted, the man puffs up and leans in close, his leer falling into a scowl. "You've got a mouth on you. I ought'a teach you some manners, harlot."

Jaskier's eyes widen incredulously as he tries not to laugh. "You know, many have told me that before. But I've yet to see any follow through."

The man's arm twitches at his side as if to strike him, and Jaskier knows his cue. He steps back lithely, and throws a look to the innkeeper who frowns at him before heading over.

"I'll thank you not to frighten our entertainment for the evening." He says, and Jaskier isn't happy with the implication, but not in a position to want to refute it.

"Maybe I wasn't done with my 'entertainment for the evening'." There's a threat in the man's voice that makes Jaskier want to beat him over the head with his lute. Not that he would ever do such a thing to his lovely lute.

"The lady's made it clear she's finished here, now so are you. Move along." The innkeeper squeezes himself slightly between them. Luckily he has a little more bulk than the other man, so it has the intended an effect of making him reconsider his aggressive stance.

Jaskier just scowls. "And the 'lady' is more than willing to remove any unwelcome appendages should they come wandering in the night." The threat lands well, making the man pale in fear rather that redden in anger, and he hurries off in embarrassment.

Jaskier thanks the innkeeper with a friendly clap on the shoulder, but he catches the look in his eye and draws it back quickly. "If you run into anymore trouble tonight, you should come and find me." The man's voice is heavy with implications.

Jaskier laughs gently. "Thank you for the help, but I should be quite alright on my own now." He bows his head slightly and finally heads up the stairs to his little room.

Goddess Melitele, travelling as a woman alone is insufferable! Never just left the fuck alone. Jaskier hopes having Yennefer as a travelling companion will act as a deterrent for all the nonsense that seems to head his way now. After all, she is _terrifying_. Maybe he could even go back to wearing his own clothes.

He looks wistfully at his bag full of colourful finery, they mostly still fit, but draw far too much attention in their new context. And Jaskier no longer has even a hint for protection for his "particular brand of obnoxious confidence", as Yennefer had put it.

With a sigh, Jaskier pulls off the offensively plain dress and dumps it in a pile before pulling on the much more comfortable chemise and breeches to sleep in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look they were meant to leave in this chapter? but jaskier decided to sing and it snowballed from there...
> 
> y'all its a trip having a fic up for like 6 hours and it blows up faster than your last 2 combined lol  
> creating for an active fandom is whack 😵😵


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer remains suspiciously clueless, and catches up with some dear friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so everytime i go to write dandelion i accidentally type 'damn'delion which is..... fair? 
> 
> thank you all for your comments! every comment brings me vitality regeneration 😌😌🍎
> 
> also it's not two updates in one day if its after midnight... right? 🤔

Yennefer of Venerberg is not the type of person to wait for someone at a bar. She's not the type to wait for someone _anywhere_ , really. She is the kind of person who walks in, and everyone there starts to wait _on her_. And yet here she is, fingers rapping impatiently on the wooden tabletop, waiting.

There's been no sign yet of the woman from the previous night, though even Yennefer herself had not risen particularly early. The innkeeper had assured her that 'her singer friend', which was a surprise, was still sleeping away in the inn, which was less of a surprise.

Yennefer has silently decided to give 'Dandelion' until the end of her glass of a surprisingly nice sweet wine before she either storms upstairs to get her, or storms out of the inn with all of her coin. It's almost a shame that she doesn't get to make the choice as the woman in question stumbles her way down the stairs just as Yennefer drains the last sip.

"Look who's finally decided to grace us with her presence," Yennefer calls out with a foreign familiarity. "Have a late one, did you?" Yennefer catches the way her eyes flick suspiciously to the innkeeper and back, but she chooses not to comment, and Dandelion just shrugs and continues over to the bar.

She's wearing the same dress as last night, looking a little more rumpled, possibly from being slept in, and even more obviously ill-fitting than Yennefer had previously noticed. It's far too short in the hem and the sleeves, and the bodice is much too loose in the waist, and tight across the chest. It's clearly not made for the woman, and clearly the only one she owns. Curious.

She also has a satchel hanging over her shoulder which appears to be bulging with clothes. More curious. Yennefer also sees the lute case slung across the woman's back and frowns slightly. The innkeeper had said 'singer', a _proper_ bard perhaps? She hopes not, or at the least that she's not as annoying as the last bard she'd had the misfortune to travel with.

Dandelion goes to hand over some coin to the innkeeper, presumably for her room for the night, but the man waves her hand away. "Don't worry about that, you more than covered it last night."

Yennifer raises an eyebrow and notices the way red creeps up the back of the woman's neck, and she glances back at her looking a smidge irritated, and embarrassed. Yennefer says nothing, and Dandelion shakes it off quickly and puts on a bright smile.

"For breakfast, then." She turns to Yennefer more deliberately. "For the road, I assume?"

Yennefer eyes her curiously for a moment before shaking her head, "Don't bother with that. It won't be a long trip, you can have something when we get there."

Dandelion throws an almost apologetic look at the innkeeper before nodding to Yennefer. Yennefer didn't wait as she walked off without another word, feeling just a touch of smug satisfaction as the other woman had to hurry to catch up.

Outside the inn, Dandelion says to her stubbornly, "I didn't sleep with him you know, the innkeeper. I just performed. For the tavern." Dandelion taps the lute at her shoulder.

Yennefer scoffs, "Why would you think I'd give a shit?"

"Well it's a matter of pride, really. I've certainly got better taste than that." Well, the woman is definitely a bard. It certainly explains the over-confident attitude, though definitely _not_ her attire.

Yennefer only rolled her eyes in response and kept walking. Dandelion continued to fill the silence. "So is she somewhere in town? Our 'second opinion'? You said it wasn't far."

"No, we can only get there through a portal." Yennefer says, a little flippantly to gauge the reaction.

She can see Dandelion pale a little from the corner of her eye and hears the quiet, "Oh."

"I've, uh, never used a portal before." She says nervously.

"I wouldn't have thought so. If I'm the only mage that you've 'met'." Yennefer smirks. "Only a handful of people puke or piss themselves on their first time through."

Dandelion pales a little further and doesn't respond. Yennefer steers them into a quiet alley, it's a dead end and the wall bears a small collection of markings Yennefer had drawn there years ago, marking a safe passage.

Yennefer eyes the woman with a frown. "Just try not to think too hard about it," she not-quite reassures.

It's easy to find her way through the wards, she helped to set them after all, and they were practically made to let her though and no one else. Beside her the bard looked wide-eyed with awe and a bit of terror. "Well, come on then," Yennefer says, and nudges her forward.

They both step through the portal, and Yennefer has a much more graceful landing than her new companion, who is now lying sprawled in the grass and looking a little green. Yennefer brushes past and ignores her, but stops at the door to their destination, her hand hovering over the handle.

It's not that she's reluctant to be here, though she is overdue for a visit, it's just that Yennefer isn't quite sure how to act anymore. She brushes the hesitation away and pushes in, Dandelion following behind her.

The cottage smells of flowers and burning herbs, and Yennefer can hear someone bustling away in the kitchen.

"Tissaia?" Yennefer calls, and hears a slightly startled response through the wall.

It's not the old Rectoress who appears round the corner, but another familiar face, one whom Yennefer is sure should have been far away, busy with much more important things than her once-mentor's dishes.

"Triss! What are you doing here? I thought you were still-" Her eyes flit back to rest on Dandelion and she steps closer, her tone lowered. "Up north."

The other mage looks worried, and tired. Her curly copper hair is pulled back into a ponytail and there are stains on her hands from soot and plants. "She called me back. She's not doing well, Yen."

"Why didn't she tell me? Why didn't you?" Yennefer is suspicious, and almost hurt.

"You know how she is. It kills her to look weak. Especially to us. Especially to you." Triss, places a hand on Yennefer's arm, which she shakes off.

"You shouldn't have just left the girl. She needs control, or she'll blow the whole lot of them off the damn mountain." Yennefer had just a taste of the girls chaos when they'd first met, and wondered if Tissaia had felt the same way when she'd first felt her own chaos.

"She's getting much better! Her control grows everyday. And beside, if anyone can handle her it would be a bunch of-" Yennefer cuts her off with a sharp look, and then another at Dandelion, who is definitely, blatantly eavesdropping.

The woman throws up her hands and an apologetic smile, but the warning on Yennefer's tongue is interrupted by Tissaia slowly descending the stairs, with careful, measured steps.

"If you two are quite finished with your gossiping, would you like to tell me why you're here, Yennefer?" Her voice is strong, but she looks far from it. She's pale, dark circles under her eyes, worse than when Yennefer had last seen her. Triss is right, she's not doing well.

Now Yennefer is almost guilty to have brought such a trivial problem here. And frustrated that Tissaia has been too proud to ask for her help. She shares her frustration in a glance over to Triss, who at least has the decency to look contrite.

Tissaia's gaze fell onto the strange woman still hovering in the doorway, "Is this another little bundle of chaos you've come to make someone else's problem?" She asks.

Yennefer sees Triss wince at the jab, but she just rolls her eyes. "I'm trying out more of this whole _giving_ thing you've put me on to. She asked for my help, I wanted a second opinion. Here we are."

Tissaia gives her an odd look, somewhere between dubious and fond, and Yennefer doesn't like it at all. She scowls back.

"Look, I don't mean to cause any trouble. If you don't want to help, I'm sure I can find someone else. Or maybe I can just learn to live with it. It'll be fine, right?" Dandelion has started backing out the door as she speaks, sounding surprisingly earnest.

Yennefer calls her back, "You can't just _leave_ , Dandelion. You have to portal in _and_ out."

The woman frowns, looking a little nervous. "Oh, fantastic. I wish you would have told me that _before_ I locked myself in with a bunch of angry witches."

Triss lets out a startled laugh and Dandelion seems to realise what she's said, looking a little stricken.

Tissaia regards her with keen eyes. "You're an odd duck."

Dandelion plasters on a grin and Yennefer can almost see her building up her confidence brick by brick. "You know, that's not the worst I've heard."

"What's your name then?" There's a curious glint in Tissaia's eye and Yennefer doesn't like it one bit.

"Call me Dandelion." She gives the name with a small bow towards Tissaia. It's the same way she had introduced herself to Yennefer. Exactly the same. And certainly not the same meaning as _my name is Dandelion_. Yennefer narrows her eyes in suspicion.

"Tell me Dandelion, what brings you to need the help of one of the strongest mages on the continent?" Yennefer rolls her eyes. Whether Tissaia is referring to Yennefer or herself it still feels somewhat self-congratulatory.

Dandelion seems to infer the former, and leans in with a conspiratorially grin, "Oh, I don't know about all that, this one's just the first one I thought of."

Triss bursts out laughing again, "Oh, Yen, I like her."

Yennefer glares at them both in turn, "Careful, _Dandelion_."

The bard throws her hands up in surrender with an expression of complete innocence, but when she turns back to Tissaia her tone is serious. "A curse."

Tissaia nods thoughtfully and looks to Yennefer, "I assume it's not a simple curse."

Yennefer just throws her a look to say, _obviously_. And Tissaia shares an amused glance with Triss.

"Well then, I suppose we'd better take a look."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i lied they're not going to aretuza - i kinda figure after sodden hill like... stregobor pretty much took over there? So the survivors probably aren't really welcome back... 
> 
> oh and in case you were wondering Jaskier/Dandelion's hair is about the same length as Renfri's, just a bit shorter?  
> and also fun fact emma appleton and joey batey are apparently the same height so... do with that what you will


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic and Witches and Intrigue, Oh My!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a monster! I've had to split it in 2 so i hope its not still too long 😂😂
> 
> not to toot my own horn but im pretty happy with how this one turned out tbqh

Jaskier sits across from the _(former?)_ rectoress of Aretuza, intimidating even in her sickly state, with each of the other mages at his sides. The table is quite small and Jaskier feels caged in, the sensation clawing up his throat is almost like a laugh, but like when you know you absolutely should not laugh. Jaskier begs himself not to laugh, the witches find him strange enough already.

Jaskier is looking anywhere but at the witch in front of him, it's not that he's avoiding her gaze _per se_ , it's just that she's _very intimidating_ , especially up close. To his right Yennefer is lounging in her chair, looking the picture of disinterest and _boredom_ , which Jaskier tries not to be offended by. And to his left the other mage, Triss, is glancing between the three of them, curiously amused.

"Shall we begin?" The voice of Tissaia, _Tissaia de Vris, gods above_ , pulls Jaskier out of his thoughts and his eyes snap to hers. He cringes a little to realise she's probably been watching him the whole time. Jaskier reaches a hand across the table to where one of hers is lying open and waiting.

She grasps it just as Yennefer had, but when Jaskier feels the creep of her magic it's not just the curse that falls under her scrutiny, but also his _mind_. Jaskier grips the edge of the table, bracing against the, somehow unexpected, intrusion. Jaskier looks nowhere but her face as he feels her flitting about between memories, as her magic seeps beneath his skin.

Tissaia comes upon a memory of a mountain and a dragon and her eyes flick curiously to Yennefer, and Jaskier manages to bite out, "Leave it. That's not relevant."

She turns her gaze back to him with a small smile, anything but coy, and the pressure lets off on his thoughts, instead doubling down within him, in his skin, his bones, his _blood_. This witch is searching much more extensively than Yennefer had. Jaskier starts to feel something else, the sensation of something /searching back/, and suddenly it's all gone. Tissaia's magic sweeps out of him in a rush, leaving him breathless and the /other/ thing just dissipates. Tissaia keeps hold of his hand.

Her eyes pierce into his. "Yennefer was right. That is very old magic. Most intriguing."

Blood was rushing in his ears and his throat feels closed over. He tries to swallow around it and it's almost painful. Tissaia watches him keenly, and he can feel the eyes of Triss and Yennefer as well. Tissaia still has his hand.

As if feeling the need to break the tension, his stomach lets out a small groan, which sets Triss off, chuckling away with affectionate amusement which warms something in Jaskier's chest. Or perhaps that's something _else_.

Seemingly unaware or unaffected by his reaction to Tissaia's probing, Yennefer drawls, "Someone was up too late for breakfast. I believe I promised her something when we got here." Jaskier can hear the eye roll in her voice but he can't look away from Tissaia.

The witch herself wears an amused smile. "She's clearly _famished_. Yennefer, Triss. Why don't you go and find something for the bard to eat. And perhaps a glass of water." Yennefer scowls deeply, but Triss, still laughing, drags her off into the kitchen.

There's something _burning_ in Jaskier's chest. And she's still _holding_ his _hand._ "What have you done to me?" He gasps out.

"I just had a little peek. But something in _there_ is peeking back." She nods down to his chest as if she can see what's burning Jaskier from the _inside._

"Well, can you tell it to _calm down_?" The sensation starts creeping out, reaching down his arms and seizing Jaskier. His other hand comes up and grips Tissaia's, both now holding her in place. Her eyes widen in but she doesn't move.

"Wh-" Yennefer and Triss step back into the room and freeze. All of them can taste the bitter static of chaos on the air, even Jaskier. Tissaia holds her free hand up to them, keeping them in place.

The _something_ in Jaskier reaches into her and he can _feel it_ , the _chaos_ in her, sick with the biting poison of dimeritium. Jaskier is sweating from the burning in his blood, and he can see it glistening at Tissaia's brow as well. She brings her other hand to grasp the rest and Jaskier shudders at the sensation of the _fire_ surging into it.

Tissaia's eyes finally leave his, scrunching shut as her head dips forward, mouth opening in a small gasp. Jaskier looks to Yennefer, fear plain in his eyes, but she doesn't see, gaze fixed on the witch in front of him. The burning turns _white hot_ and Jaskier cries out with it, falling forward, weight on his elbows against the table.

And then, it turns. Not like a bucket of ice over his head, but like a cool stream over a burn, a damp cloth on a fevered brow. _Soothing_ the both of them. Jaskier almost thinks he can feel _satisfaction_ as the chaos creeps back inside him, fading away. But not completely. He can still _feel it_. Like it's just resting on its haunches, waiting, simmering in his blood. Jaskier shudders again.

"Tissaia!" Yennefer surges forward and grabs her by the shoulders, Triss just behind her. She rounds on Jaskier. "What did you do?" Chaos burns behind her eyes but Jaskier is too _exhausted_ to be afraid.

"Stop." Tissaia's voice rings with power. All three pairs of eyes turn to her. Something about her just sings. The pink has returned to her cheeks, the shine to her hair, the strength of her posture. Whatever just happened, she's certainly better for it.

The other two mages lay a hand on each of her shoulders, focus honed in on her, eyes wide. Triss speaks, her voice soft, "The poison. It's gone."

"How?" Yennefer barks out, hard, suspicious eyes turned once again on Jaskier. He's too tired for this. He just needs a snack. And a nap.

"Whatever's hanging around inside our bard here wanted it gone almost as much as I did," Tissaia muses. All eyes are on Jaskier again and he can't help but sag further onto the table.

Triss, at least, seems sympathetic to his state and rushes to fetch him a new glass of water, the other laying spilled in the doorway to the kitchen, dropped in her haste to get to Tissaia. Yennefer deposits a shining red apple before him, and he can't help himself but to say, all too familiar, "Trying to hit me with another curse already, Yennefer?"

She just glowers at him as he takes the glass from Triss with a grateful smile. Once hydrated, he helps himself to the apple, completely unconcerned about witches curses or poison, _he swears_ , and the three mages disappear into the kitchen, presumably to gossip about him out of his earshot. He, again, finds himself too tired to care.

Jaskier decides to heave himself up and over to an incredibly comfortable looking chair over by the unfortunately doused fireplace where, conveniently enough, he can _just_ overhear the conversation going on in the kitchen.

"So can we all agree that this is somehow both above and below our pay-grade right now?" Yennefer's words sting, but Jaskier can see her point. "We're in the middle of a war, and it's not like the curse seems to be doing any harm."

"Maybe not yet. But we've no idea what it's true purpose could be. Tissaia felt _intent_. When's the last time you heard of a curse like that?" Triss cuts through, her voice edged with concern.

"And the last thing we need is Nilfgaard catching wind of this and trying to turn it into some kind of weapon, or gods forbid _Stregobor_." Tissaia follows on from Triss's point, and Jaskier pales at the thought.

"Alright, alright, fine." Yennefer concedes. "What are we supposed to do then? This sort of magic is older than any of us have ever dealt with. Even you Tissaia."

Tissaia's response is thoughtful, "We're not the only experts on curses this side of the Continent. Perhaps it's time to seek the advice of your friends up North."

"Well, I'm due back there, anyway. I'm happy to take her along. It'll be fun." Triss sounds almost pleased with the idea, which makes Jaskier feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Yennefer responds with venom, "Are you serious? We have no idea who this woman is! We can't trust her with-"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous Yennefer. You'd know in a heartbeat if you paid any attention at all." Tissaia's voice is incredulous and yet sharp.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jaskier is really staring to feel like Yennefer might burn him up on the spot when she figures it out, if not at least just to avenge her pride.

"Why don't you ask the bard?" There is far too much _knowing_ colouring Tissaia's voice and Jaskier is _so over_ being the subject of conversation, especially one he's not even a part of.

He speaks loudly enough that he's sure the three in the kitchen can hear him, hoping they'll take pity and not react too harshly to his eavesdropping. "Look, I've had a rather stressful morning. Why don't we just put a pin in that until I _don't_ feel like my brain might leak out of my ears."

Triss is the first to exit the kitchen, looking very concerned, and comes to hover beside him. She puts a hand to his forehead, cool against his skin, and after a moment the storm within is calmed ever so slightly.

Tissaia lights the fire with a wave of her hand and a pleased smile as she takes the second armchair, opposite Jaskier. Yennefer just leans herself again the doorframe of the kitchen and glares into the fire, seeming intent on ignoring them all.

"So, what now?" Jaskier entreats.

Tissaia sits for a moment, thoughtful. "That was an incredible display of magic. I'm sure there's probably _someone_ out there paying enough attention to sense it. Now, whether that's Nilfgaard, or the Brotherhood, we probably shouldn't linger here long. Triss is due back Kaer Morhen, and I think the Witchers are your next best bet at puzzling out this curse of yours. So I suggest you go with her."

Jaskier fights a scowl, but something of it must have shown in his eyes, if Tissaia's smirk was anything to go by. He says nothing, but nods, fiddling with the apple in his hands.

Tissaia continues, speaking more to the others than him, "And I rather think it's time to get my house in order. That snake has had his hands on my school for far too long already."

"I'll go with you. I can help you." Yennefer has an almost desperate edge to her voice, and Jaskier can sense she's just as reluctant as he is to wander off into the den of a certain wolf.

"Yennefer. It's time to stop avoiding him. I agreed that you should stay behind last time because you were still recovering from Sodden. We _both_ were. There's no excuse now. They need you." The _'I don't'_ sits heavy in the air between them and Jaskier wonders just how many _complicated relationships_ Yennefer has managed to entangle herself in over the years.

Yennefer gives no indication of her reaction as she sweeps by without a word, disappearing out the front door. Jaskier gasps a little at the sensation he realises is her _opening a portal_ , which he will definitely be getting back to _later_ , and shares a worried look with Triss.

"Is, uh... Is she gonna come back?" Tissaia says nothing in response and just rises from her chair and rests a hand briefly on Jaskier's shoulder as she walks by, and he can't be sure whether it’s meant as reassurance or just so she can feel that _power_ again.

She's disappeared up the stairs by the time Triss answers him, reclining into the chair Tissaia has just vacated. "She'll make her choice, one way or the other."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try and get the next chapter up asap but i've still gotta work and fic don't pay the bills (unfortunately)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier enjoys the fine company of Triss Merigold and makes himself at home (but not like THAT, he swears!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what the people want: action, drama, romance  
> what the people get: horrible flirting, a bath? perchance a nap

Beside them the fire crackles, the familiar warmth much more of a comfort for Jaskier than the searing heat he'd just been subjected to. He throws what remains of his apple into the flames and looks down at his hands, trying to see anything that might be different, changed by whatever had happened.

Jaskier feels Triss' gaze on him, and after a moment he meets it. Her expression is relaxed, curious. "You're the Witcher's bard, aren't you?"

Jaskier flinches, swallows, looks back at his hands. Nods. Then he shakes his head. "Not anymore."

Triss is quiet for a moment, as if considering his response, and her own. "I knew him, you know. We broke a curse together, actually. In Temeria."

There's something about her that is just so kind that the memories don't hurt as much as they usually would. "The striga?" He asks, though knowing the answer. He's told the story himself countless times.

"A fucking mess, that was." She confirms, with a laugh, and Jaskier can't help but join in.

The laughter fades, and Jaskier frowns back into his hands. "I can't fathom how she hasn't realised yet. Figured it out. Figured _me_ out."

Triss leans forward towards him in her chair, resting her chin in her hand, her elbow on her knee. "Perhaps part of her doesn't want to realise. It may be that it hurts her just as much as it hurts you to be reminded of him." Jaskier scowls up at her, but she's smiling so kindly he puts no venom behind it. He wonders whether it was her prowess as a sorcerer that had her reading him like a book, or if he's just that obvious.

"We saw him again, after the battle of Sodden Hill. He and his Child Surprise." Triss watches him keenly, and now there is something wary in her eyes, cautious. A test?

The news spreads genuine warmth through him though, and he doesn't keep the smile from his face. "I'm glad. After Cintra fell, I worried- No matter. I'm glad."

Triss smiles back and continues, "Yennefer ran. We'd lost her, you know. She disappeared after the battle, consumed by her own chaos. He helped us find her, and she ran." There's no judgement in her voice, or pity, but there is sadness. "Maybe this time she won't run? It's not for me to say."

Jaskier isn't sure how to feel about it. She certainly is a flighty witch, and he certainly won't begrudge her if she does choose to run again. Jaskier wouldn't mind a bit of that himself, about now. When he speaks, his words are barely more than a murmur, "I suppose I have to make my choice, too. Not that I've got very many options."

"Why don't I give you an easier choice to start with?" There's a mirth in her eyes Jaskier can't help but share, in spite of it all. "We've got a bath, a spare bed, and a kitchen full of food. Where would you like to start?"

Laughter spills from Jaskier's lips like a dam breaking, half in relief and half in hysteria. "Oh, a bath? Do you promise? Oh, _Melitele_ , I've not seen a bath in so long."

Triss laughs along and stands to offer an arm to pull him up from where he's melted into his seat. "I promise. And I can tell." Her nose crinkles in distaste, sending them into bouts of laughter again. He takes the hand offered and hauls himself up, the holds it for a moment longer.

"Thank you," He says, trying to inject the depth of his sincerity into his tone. "For listening, I suppose."

Triss returns the thanks with a gentle squeeze of his palm and another kind smile. "And for the first bath in weeks I haven't had to sing for." He continues, to re-lighten to mood.

"I wouldn't be too sure of that yet, bard. Plenty of time to play a tune or two for your supper, later," Triss plays along with good-natured teasing, and pulls him along slightly as she leads the way to, presumably, a deliciously warm, clean bath.

" _Gods_ , you've no idea how much I want out of this bloody dress." Triss smirks back at him and he backtracks quickly, "Because it's so uncomfortable, I mean, not-" Jaskier cuts himself off before he anything more embarrassing.

Thankfully, Triss just seems amused, and hums in understanding, "Yes, doesn't look your size at all. How on earth did you get it, and why?"

"Well, for a song and a dance, of course," Jaskier jokes, though sobers a little, tone souring. "My own clothes were drawing too much unwanted attention. I had to go looking for something that would do better to help me blend in."

Triss regards him sympathetically, though seems skeptical at the idea of the monstrosity he wore doing as he desired, however drab it appeared.

"Must be interesting, to walk through the world as someone else, not so different, yet different enough." Her eyes were far too keen, too knowing.

"Yes, yes, it's all delightfully novel." Jaskier waves off the comment, not particularly keen on opening up the can of worms she was prodding towards.

"Kept the important parts the same, at least. Fingers, tongue." Seeing the glint in Triss' eye has him biting said tongue, blushing to the roots of his hair. "That is, for _performing_ -" Not better, Jaskier. "Uh, playing. Lute. Obviously."

Jaskier thanks the gods Yennefer isn't here to see the pitiful display, he might've died on the spot, if she wouldn't have taken care of that for him. Triss, at least, just politely hides her laughter behind a hand and otherwise ignores his ( _completely unintentional!!_ ) innuendo.

Jaskier picks up his bag from where he'd dropped it as they make their way across the room. And tries to vow to keep his mouth shut unless he won't embarrass himself with what comes out of it, though such a thing has never worked for him before.

The room Triss leads him to appears to be a converted laundry room, the tub across the room mostly obscured by a wooden partition. The room smells strongly of perfume, one wall lined with shelves of oils and candles. "Even sorceresses like their creature comforts, huh?" Jaskier asks playfully.

"Who doesn't?" Triss is over by the tub, holding a hand over the rim, and Jaskier feels an almost-imperceptible tingle in his fingertips as the magic fills the bath. He shakes his hands out to rid himself of the sensation and Triss eyes him curiously. "Help yourself to any of the perfumes. Take your time, Jaskier."

She waves a hand to light the line of candles and leaves him alone with the hot water. Jaskier realises belatedly that this was probably the first time he's heard him own name in some time. He shakes off the thought and dumps his bag on the floor, quickly followed by his dress, underthings and shoes. He finds himself a towel and a gentle-looking bar of soap before climbing into the steaming bath.

Submerged in the warmth, Jaskier can't be distracted from the buzzing beneath his skin. It hadn't really faded after the incident with Tissaia, though he hadn't focused much on it as he spoke with Triss. Now it tingles like a rash as he draws the soap against his skin, and he's as much trying to draw the magic out as he is to scrub the dirt off. He doesn't have much luck with the former.

Once he's finished with the latter, he just rests in the hot water, and tries not to let his thoughts dwell on his not so distant future. He was here to relax, not get himself worked up over decisions he is yet to make.

As he soaks absentmindedly, a subtle heat radiates from his belly, and he can't quite place it, but something in him just knows it's the hum of magic close by. Jaskier lets out a curious hum, but otherwise ignores it, instead sinking deeper into the hot bath, wetting his hair, and enjoying the muted quiet under the water.

Before he surfaces, Jaskier almost swears he hears the sound of something falling to the bottom of the tub, like a stone or a coin, of perhaps a ring, but a sweep of his hands find nothing, and he'd left nothing nearby that could have slipped in. He shrugs away the thought and rotates to rest his arms against the rim of the tub, now facing a mirror he hadn't noticed tucked behind the partition.

The face that stares back at him is so _almost_ his. Wet hair hangs about his cheekbones, framing blue eyes that are _all_ his. He had all the same marks, mole on his neck, scar below his eye. But there's no shadow of stubble at his jaw, the line of his neck and shoulders just a little bit softer, the hair on his arms thinner, paler.

Disarmingly bizarre, is what it is. Like running into a long-lost sister and knowing her in a look but knowing also that she might try and take over your life. Jaskier childishly flicks suds at the mirror and turns away with a sigh.

The bathwater stays warm for a _suspiciously_ long time, and he can't even be sure whether he has Triss to thank for it or whatever magical mumbo-jumbo had itself wrapped around him. When he's fairly sure if he stays in any longer, he may fall asleep and drown, Jaskier reluctantly hauls himself out of the tub.

Jaskier wraps himself in a soft towel and goes back to the wall of perfumes so he can pick through the vials until he finds the familiar aroma of lavender oil. He winds the oil into his still-damp hair, thankful that at least the curse hasn't burdened him with long, unruly tresses of hair he really has no patience for.

Waiting for him on a bench once he rounds the partition is a beautiful dress, of deep blue and gold brocade velvet, trimmed in dark brown fur. It looks fit for a sorceress. _And likely made by one too,_ Jaskier realises, his fingers dancing across the soft fabric. This must be the product of the flare of magic he'd felt earlier.

His own bag of clothes sits on the floor next to the bench, and the siren song of comfort and familiarity wins out against the tempting finery. The detestable dress he'd been wearing is nowhere to be seen, which makes Jaskier chuckle under his breath.

Once dressed, he slings his bag over his shoulder and carefully lays the dress over one arm, not wanting to mar the beautiful fabric with lines from folding or scrunching. He hopes his choice won't be seen as an insult, or a rejection. From what he's seen of Triss so far, he's pretty confident it won't be, but one can never be too sure with witches.

"Well I can see now why you would have drawn attention." As he suspected, Triss doesn't seem hurt that he hadn't chosen her offering. In fact, Jaskier feels his cheeks pink a little at the look of appreciation for his unconventional attire (though in fairness, not unconventional for him _usually_ , only unconventional for him _now_ , it's just his standard doublet and trousers, after all) as he makes his way back into the sitting room.

"Oh, sweet sorceress, I am _always_ drawing attention," Jaskier punctuates the statement with a flourishing bow and a roguish wink her way. He was extremely grateful for their quick and easy rapport, his brief interactions with Yennefer have put him on edge and joking around with a friendly face has helped to set him at ease, at least a little.

He does have to remind himself though, that Triss is just as capable of all the feats of terrifying magical intimidation as he envisions from Yennefer. Jaskier gestures towards her with his dress-laden arm, "My lady, you _spoil_ me. I couldn't possibly wear something so lovely just for lounging around the house." He grins happily at her easy laugh.

"I sometimes find that's the perfect time for wearing pretty things." She smiles conspiratorially as she passes him on her way to the stairs. From the first step gestures over to the kitchen with a nod. "Help yourself to any food you want. Give us a yell if you need anything."

Jaskier calls up his thanks after her and turns to pick up his neglected lute as she disappears above. He settles himself back in his new favourite spot by the fire, carefully oiling and tuning the instrument. He plucks at it absentmindedly for a few minutes before he once again feels the insistent pull of sleep.

He rests his lute against the armchair, well away from the fire, before he does something disastrous like dropping it into the flames in his slumber. He curls into the chair comfortably and finally succumbs to the enticing call of rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my day job is slowly draining my will to live so this fic is coming in drips and drabs now rip 😓😓 - come and harass me on at thegrimmgrimm.tumblr.com - I probably won't write any faster but I'll certainly have much more fun 😁😁 
> 
> For a wonderful fic which semi-inspired this one go check out "No Filter" by pukingflowers (which is really 3 amazing fics stacked on top of each other, wearing a trenchcoat)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer runs into some trouble while musing over her decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it turns out im not that great at writing about what characters are /thinking/ about so apparently i substitute that for violence, who knew ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> cw for brief reference to infant death (from Of Banquets, Bastards and Burials) - only in the second paragraph and no other mention

As far away across the Continent as she can manage from Tissaia's claustrophobic little hamlet in the middle of nowhere, Yennefer finds herself by the sea. She's not sure where exactly, but from the chill bite to the wind, somewhere far north. She tries to stop herself from wondering how close to Kaer Morhen she's found herself, to little success.

She also wonders if perhaps this is the same coast, the same beach she had been dashed upon decades ago now. She wonders if tiny bones still lie buried beneath the sand, or if they'd just been carried away, either by the waves or the gulls and crows.

The last time Yennefer had walked away ( _walked,_ not _run,_ no matter what Tissaia and Triss accused) from the Witcher tied to her fate, she had found herself upon a mountainside. _The_ mountainside. She wonders whether it was her subconscious or her magic drawing her to the most painful destinations in her life whenever she faces a dilemma, and whether such things were actually separate at all.

Since the Battle of Sodden Hill Yennefer's magic has not stopped singing in her veins. The breadth of what she unleased that night has let loose something inside her, and she's now only barely able to hold it in. She remembers the feel of her chaos rising inside her to match the power burning inside Tissaia, coiling out from some supposed nobody, just a bard, just a _mortal_.

Yennefer's hasty exit from Tissaia's little hideaway has worked two-fold. She now has space and privacy to decide whether or not she will return and face the Witcher, and it also allows her distance from the echoing power that called to the chaos in her, threatening to overwhelm her brittle control.

The sharp, salty wind helps to soothe that chaos. Yennefer can feel the life flowing in the air and the sea, in the hardy grass growing roots into the briny sand, grasping for the barest source of nourishment. She breathes it in like the sea air and feels the power move through and around her.

Yennefer knows how ridiculous it is for someone holding this much power in her fingertips to be so apprehensive about facing a single Witcher. It feels like a weakness to avoid him, but it feels like more of a weakness to be around him. To experience all that she is forced to feel, and not know if any of it is really _hers_.

In the end, it's not as if this meeting needs to actually _resolve_ anything. She is simply helping a strange woman free herself from a strange curse.

Oh, but the magic of this curse _fascinates_ her. She's not felt anything of the like since encountering that damned djinn, and perhaps in the quest to break this curse, she might find a way to rid herself of another? She’s getting sick of wondering.

The other option, of course, is to force her help on Tissaia. It's not like Yennefer _wants_ to go chasing all those cowards and frauds of the Chapter out of Aretuza for her. It might be easier to work towards a goal without so many personal implications for her, but being the easier option almost always proves it to be the wrong one.

Yennefer decides to leave the beautiful, dreary beach, but she does not immediately return to the hidden cottage. Instead, she goes to the inn. She's been staying here the last few nights, and the place was decidedly not horrible, and the bar does hold a decent drop of ale, for its ilk.

It must be after midday now, the tavern floor is bustling with townsfolk out for lunch, or a drink. Unconsciously, the people part before her as she makes her way to the bar. The same innkeeper tends away, pouring out ale and wine, and shouting out orders to the kitchen.

"Oh, hello. Didn't expect to see you again." The man greets her with a surprised smile, she had told him she wouldn't be returning here, after all. "What happened to your friend, the singer? I'm could a little performance to help ease the afternoon rush, as I'm sure would my patrons."

Yennefer gives him a withering look, mildly disgusted at the dreamy look in his eye at the thought of the bard. "Just give me an ale."

Cowed, the man hurries to do so. Yennefer's scowl only lets up after the man sets the tankard before her and busies himself with other customers. Her enjoyment of the man's discomfort is short lived, however, as a tickling feeling at the back of her neck makes her aware of being watched.

She can sense them before she sees them. Three mages, that she would probably recognise if she cared enough to remember, one at her back and one at each side, flanking her. Yennefer takes another draught of her ale and remains the picture of unaffected.

"So, what is this then, Stregobor finally sending his thanks for taking care of Nilfgaard while he was too busy cowering in fear?" Yennefer turns to lean against the bar, arms crossed against her chest and facing the mage directly behind her. One of the Brotherhood. He says nothing.

Yennefer looks to her left and sees another Brotherhood mage, not a face she remembers, and certainly not one that frightens her. She continues goading, voice bored, "If you're hoping to threaten me with something, I sure hope you brought somebody actually threatening to do it for you."

"It's not a threat. It's a question." The voice to her right she does recognise, but she doesn't place it until she's turned to see the woman's face. She's one of the mages from Aretuza who'd pledged to fight in Sodden Hill and fled like a coward in the night.

Yennefer narrows her eyes at the woman. "What possible question could a pack of cowards like yourselves think to bring me?" She feels a little smug at the way the woman flinches at the question.

"Yennefer," Her eyes snap to face the newcomer and watches his approach with suspicion, "How is Tissaia?"

She cocks her head at him slightly, curious. "Why don't you ask her yourself, _Vilgefortz_. I thought you two were close."

There's a hidden edge to the smile he gives her, and something about it makes her skin crawl. All that suave charm has dropped, and Yennefer is glad for it, she's so sick of slick smiles and pretty lies. She does not flinch as he comes to a stop mere inches from her.

"I've not visited her for nearly a month, so I'm not sure what you hope to learn from me." She keeps her voice as bored and unaffected as before.

"Now Yennefer, let's not get off on the wrong foot here." His tone carries a warning Yennefer is unlikely to heed. "Did you think that we would not feel it? Come looking for it?"

"What, are you the Chapter's loyal dog now, running off to fetch whatever they require?" Yennefer rolls her eyes, a deep scowl across her face.

"Oh Yennefer, I _am_ the Chapter." Vilgefortz reaches out and grasps her arm, grip tight enough to hurt.

A storm brews in Yennefer's blood as her chaos roils. "You’d best remove that unless you want to lose it."

The man makes no attempt to move, his fingers digging deeper into her arm, enough to leave a bruise, even, eyes boring into her. "The magic Yennefer. What is it? _Where_ is it?"

"If it's magic you want, I’m happy to oblige." Yennefer grabs his wrist with her free hand _squeezes_ , chaos burning at her fingertips, in her palm. Vilgefortz drops her arm with a sharp hiss of pain, but he doesn't step away.

This does spur the other mages into action, however, and they start forward as if to attack. Yennefer, eyes still on the man in front of her, waves a hand and sends the woman to her right sprawling across the room.

Vilgefortz must be encouraging his penchant for hand-to-hand combat amongst the Brotherhood with new position, because he steps back to allow the other mages to crowd forward into her space and instead of attacking like sorcerers, each man draws a dagger.

Yennefer tries not to feel insulted at how easily they think she will be outmatched. It takes little effort to disarm them, sending them lurching after their still- recumbent friend, after liberating each man's dagger from their grasp.

"If any of you want to live to see tomorrow, I would suggest you stay down," Yennefer remarks to the pile of mages on the floor, who have all apparently forgotten that they are _sorcerers_ with _magic_. Pathetic.

And then Vilgefortz draws his sword. _What a fucking prick,_ Yennefer thinks to herself. It's easy enough to parry his first few blows with the daggers, but she'll have to gain the upper hand another way, or just get the fuck out of there.

Seeing the other mages stirring, Yennefer decides on the latter. She sends out another _push_ of magic, and Vingefortz staggers backwards and into the other three assailants. Beneath their feet, Yennefer's portal splits open the floor, and she send a final wave of magic to force them through.

With a sigh, Yennefer turns back to the bar. The innkeeper's eyes are wide as saucers, and the tavern is silent, the fear of its occupants permeating the air. Yennefer downs the last of her ale and leaves a gold crown on the bar. "For the commotion," She remarks, and exits the tavern.

Yennefer keeps a wary eye on her surrounding as she maintains her unaffected façade, heading quickly to her warded alley, to portal back to Tissaia. The mess she'd thrown Vilgefortz and his lackeys into will likely buy her some time, but she isn't foolish enough to think it will actually get rid of him.

Yennefer steps through the portal and onto soft grass and takes a moment to hover on the doorstep of the cottage, processing what's just happened.

Vilgefortz in control of the Chapter? All the while he'd been feeding them lies about hiding out and lying low, assembling this farce, he's been working towards his own ends.

Yennefer can only assume that the victory at Sodden Hill had cowed Stregobor and Artorius enough for them to concede to him a position of leadership. Which most likely means Tissaia's return to Aretuza will now be a lot more complicated with all this in mind.

And now, Vilgefortz is after the strange magic that Yennefer herself is being drawn to, with apparently the full power of the Chapter behind him. And, some poor mortal woman caught in the middle of it all, all due to some curse and no discernible leads on a source or reason.

"Fuck." She says emphatically, to no one. She collects herself and heads inside to share the news.

The words die on her tongue, however, at the sight she greets in the sitting room. The cursed woman resting in front of the fire is wearing a _particularly_ distinctive vest that Yennefer has _definitely_ seen before, and all thoughts of Vilgefortz and Aretuza fly from her head as the pieces fall into place.

"Fuck," She says again, to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to get chapter 7 finished and up asap so you shouldn't be hanging for long! 
> 
> hope you liked 😘


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer finally gets a clue, and Jaskier shows some spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all oh my goodness I had to rewrite this scene like 3 times to meet the hype over Yennefer's Realisation™ 😂😂😂😂

There is someone touching his face. Jaskier has a crick in his neck from how he's been sleeping, side of his body that's been facing the fire feels as if it might melt off, and yet his toes feel _freezing_. He's not fully awake, and in a strange place, and there is _someone touching his face._

It does _not_ comfort him to recognise the violet eyes staring down on him. The fingertips tracing his jaw jerk away but just as quickly the hand comes back with a resounding _crack_ across his cheekbone.

"Ow!" Cries Jaskier, leaping up from his seat, aghast.

"Jaskier," Yennefer grits it out, bitter, like its an accusation.

"Yennefer." Jaskier brings a hand to his throbbing cheek and scowls at his attacker. Their age-old taunting was all too easy to fall into, an acerbic tinge to his tone. "Nice to see you've finally figured it out. Good on you, I was starting to worry."

Yennefer says nothing, silently fuming, and Jaskier rambles into the silence, unable to help himself.

"And now you say, 'Why Jaskier, is it any wonder I didn't recognise you with all those new greys.' To which I will appear _very_ disgruntled and pretend to hold it against you for at least the rest of the evening, but in truth I find that my lovely new silver _accoutrements_ lend me a sort of dashing, mature charm."

Still Yennefer is silent, and Jaskier wonders if she won't just let him talk himself to death by embarrassment, at this point. So again, he goes on, "Or perhaps you are devising some sort of horrifying magic punishment for my deceit, and are simply too busy to formulate some devastatingly witty insult."

"Are you finished?" Jaskier opens his mouth to give some snarky answer, but thankfully, blissfully, nothing comes out. He snaps his mouth shut again and shakes his head, word-vomit evidently over for now. Jaskier look over at the stairs, and sees they've been joined by Triss and Tissaia, witnesses the spectacle. Neither come to his aid.

Yennefer stalks towards him, and he before he can react he finds himself with his back to the fireplace and a knife to his throat. Jaskier is slightly concerned at how familiar it feels, at least this time he isn't singing.

"Yennefer!" Triss rebukes from across the room. Over Yennefer's shoulder Jaskier can see Tissaia rest a hand on her arm, holding her in place. Tissaia meets his eyes with curiosity and Jaskier tries to swallow down the fear clawing up his throat.

Yennefer ignores the other sorceresses, and her violet eyes bore into his own with an indefinable expression. "Geralt and I, that connection I understand. But why is it I can't ever fucking escape you?"

Heart beating against his chest, cold blade at his throat, hot flame at his back, and yet for a moment Jaskier's fear pales to the feeling of bitterness rising in him at the reminder. "You know, he asked me almost the very same thing."

Something twists in her expression, and Jaskier doesn't want to go throwing around words like "sympathy" or "pity", but he could _swear_ it's what he sees. She doesn't step back however, and Jaskier tries to pull together some shred of dignity.

"I could _hate you_ , you know? You would just swan in and of our lives, doing whatever you please and leaving me to deal with the consequences once you were gone. It's no wonder he decided to blame me for it all when you finally fucked off for good." It might be the most coherent string of words he's ever put together in her presence, and Jaskier is maybe just a little bit proud of himself.

"And if you don't mind-" Jaskier, hopefully showing more defiance than the last time she'd held a knife to him, brings his hand up and touches his fingers to the back of Yennefer's hand at his throat.

The contact sets blood rushing in his ears, deafening him, as a hot pulse of magic rushes through his fingertips. Suddenly the blade is scorching at his throat and he and Yennefer are leaping away from one another with pained yells, red-hot dagger falling to the floor between them with a clatter.

Each of them take a beat and just stare at it, and then back up at each other. Jaskier is sure that the shock in her expression in mirrored in his own. Jaskier can still feel the threatening coil of power within him, and he wonders if this is what Yennefer feels like _all the time_. It feels like an age that they just watch one another, waiting for the other to do or say something.

Yennefer eventually breaks the silence. "Why did you lie to me?" Her tone is even, and deathly calm. Either she is _incredibly_ good at hiding the extent of her ire, or perhaps she just doesn't give that much of a shit. The throbbing in Jaskier's cheek and the stinging burn at his neck give a bit of an indication as to which it is.

"In my defence, I never actually _lied_ -" At the thunder in her expression Jaskier backtracks, "Okay, okay. At first, I was pretty sure you wouldn't help me if you knew. Then, I was just genuinely afraid that when you found out you might turn me into a toad, or burn me to a crisp."

Her eyes narrow, "I still might."

Jaskier swallows loudly and tries to step back, kicking his lute over in the process. He makes a pained sound at the dissonant twang it gives as the tuning is knocked out of it on the hard floor. Yennefer rolls her eyes at his dramatics.

"Don't you _ever_ change?" She asks, incredulous.

Jaskier gestures down at himself, trying to project as much sarcasm as he can into the movement. And as he looks back at Yennefer, not a thing on this Earth could shock him more than the sight of her shuddering with what Jaskier can only describe as involuntary, borderline hysterical laughter.

Yennefer lets herself fall back into the chair behind her, fight and mirth seemingly evaporating from her as one with the movement. Jaskier hovers over her for a moment, a mite concerned at her new tired, wary expression.

"Are... Uh, you okay?" He asks, not entirely sure what he would do if she gave him an answer.

Yennefer looks at him for a long moment before finally acknowledging the other mages. At her gaze they wander closer, Triss mirroring Yennefer's wariness, and Tissaia looking dignified and curious, as always.

Yennefer ignores Jaskier's confused concern, and speaks directly to them, "We've been deceived. It's not Stregobor who's taken control of the Chapter. It's _Vilgefortz_. He's been lying to us this whole time. We are betrayed."

Jaskier can see Tissaia's mouth draw into a hard line, eyes narrowing. She says nothing.

"You were right. They sensed the magic." Yennefer glances briefly at Jaskier as she continues, face twisting as if in annoyance at the reminder of his presence. "They're coming after it."

"Were you followed? Could they trace you?" Triss' question has Yennefer looking almost outlandishly offended, and Jaskier fights hard not to laugh, lest he be unfortunately smote by angry sorceresses.

"It won't matter regardless. This place was only going to last so long as no one was actively looking for it. We won't have long now." Tissaia answers instead, shaking her head. "I don't think we should linger here past nightfall, if I'm honest."

Tissaia's assertion has Jaskier reeling, just a little. It's one thing to be told that _the actual Chapter of the Gift and the Art_ is coming after him (or, his curse more specifically), and quite another for it to be a _pressing and immediate danger._

Jaskier sees Triss frown and think for a moment before speaking. "The new wards they've put up mean we won't be able to portal directly into Kaer Morhen. I organised for us to arrive as close as we can manage, and someone will meet us there to guide us through the valley and to the Keep on foot. I told the Witchers we'd still be a while, they won't be expecting us for at least a day or so. I'll need to speak to them again if we're to leave sooner." She must have contacted them while he bathed, or napped, Jaskier realises.

All of this seems to be rushing past Jaskier at high speed, leaving his head spinning. Leaving for Kaer Morhen, for the Witchers, _tonight_. Trekking off into the countryside with a ' _guide'_ , all so he doesn't get whisked off by power-hungry mages. Jaskier wouldn't mind another nap. Possibly through the next week.

Yennefer speaks over his small internal freak out, either completely ignoring or oblivious to it, asking Tissaia, "Will you still return to Aretuza?"

"It's even more pertinent that I do so now. I will return and do as I've always done; try to keep the balance." Tissaia levels Yennefer with an amused smile. "Which will be a much simpler task if you do not accompany me, I'm afraid."

Yennefer scowls but nods, and Jaskier sees some sort of understanding pass between them that Jaskier can't interpret. "Then we'd all best start preparing." Yennefer says, eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this took me slightly longer than expected 😅😅  
> and also apparently I have no idea what the correct form of smite is meant to be in past tense but y'all know im gonna go with the pun (even if it makes no sense)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Into the woods, and here be Wolves (and monsters).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all can have another chapter.... as a treat
> 
> sorry if it feels a bit rushed, ive been struggling with my muse lately

Jaskier's second adventure through a portal is just as nerve-wracking as his first, perhaps even more so, because this time he can _feel_ the power emanating from it like an ache in his bones. Something so foreign, yet becoming familiar. It itches under his skin.

Yennefer holds open the portal as he and Triss slip through; the jarring, instantaneous journey leaving him breathless. Jaskier barely notices as Yennefer steps out after him, with far more grace than he could muster.

They've appeared on the side of a road, empty but well worn. Either side is lines with thick pines and brush, and Jaskier can hear the faint sound of running water in the distance. They must be nearby a river, the _Gwenllech_ , he assumes.

Triss leads the way off into the trees, and it's not far off the road that they find a small clearing. It seems the perfect place for a small campsite, hidden away from the road, and Jaskier concludes that it had probably been created for that very purpose.

The three set out their things in silence, Jaskier hasn't brought much, just some spare coin and parchment, his clothes, and his lute, best to travel light, after all. Jaskier lays out a borrowed bed-roll in close to the growing fire Triss has lit, as she and Yennefer are raising a tent with the help of a little chaos.

Jaskier is wearing his lovely new gift for the journey, as the dress is heavier, warmer, more suitable for travel, Jaskier reasons. Though mostly, Jaskier just enjoys the excuse to show off the finery and his appreciation for Triss' gift. He keeps his own shirt and trousers on underneath, mostly for warmth, but also because it's been such a comfort to return to familiarity.

As they sit around the fire and the light fades into dusk, there is an _almost_ companionable silence between them. Which Triss decides to break.

"It still at least a day's travel from the keep, though I'm not sure how long we'll have to remain here to wait for our escort before that." The forced nonchalance in her voice is a little unsettling. "So, before he gets here... I don't suppose now would be a good time to mention that I seduced your Witcher?"

Jaskier doesn’t really stop to think it through as the words spill from his mouth, at precisely the same as Yennefer, "He's not my Witcher." They scowl at each other for barely a moment before Jaskier cracks and lets out a shocked laugh, situation far too ridiculous for a straight face.

"So, I assume it won't be a problem then?" Triss teases, smirking mischievously.

"Why on earth would it be a problem?" Yennefer asks in a voice that just screams 'I absolutely have a problem but like hell do I want you to think that I do'. "And also, _why_ would you do that, Triss?"

The mage looks away shiftily, "Well... he was just so _sad._ I thought it might cheer him up. You left him more than a little heartbroken, Yen."

Jaskier scoffs, "What's new?" He says under his breath, earning him a hard glare from said heartbreaker.

"So, you slept with my ex, because he was _sad._ " Yennefer looks like she's trying _very hard_ to look like she's _not_ trying _very hard_ to look calm.

"It was very distracting!" Triss defends, "I was there trying to be professional, train Ciri. But he would just always be there, _moping_. Distracting."

Jaskier hides a snort behind his hand at the image that evokes. The number of times Jaskier has found himself close to hysterics in the last two day might become worrisome at some point.

"Whatever, I'm going to set up some wards." Yennefer wanders off into the tree-line without another word, leaving Triss and Jaskier looking at each other, amused and sceptical.

Triss joins him next to the fire and he offers her a bite of food from his pack. "You know, I'm not sure which reveal went better, mine or yours." Jaskier muses.

Triss, looking deeply amused, replies, "She did try to slit your throat."

"Ah, but she didn't." Jaskier points out, though his hand drifts to trace the fading burn across his neck. "I'm a far easier target than you are, though."

"That might be true," She looks like she might laugh at him, but apparently reigns it in. "So, it's not a problem for you then, with Geralt?"

"If I fretted over every beautiful woman, sorceress or no, that he fell into bed with over the years, I would have stressed myself to death before I was thirty." He shrugs, with a lot more genuine indifference than Yennefer could muster. "And besides, it's not my problem, and most certainly none of my business anymore."

"If you say so, bard." Triss rests a reassuring hand on his shoulder and eyes him with scepticism. She is, thankfully, distracted from more interrogation and insinuation by the return of Yennefer. And the sorceress is not alone.

Jaskier does not recognise the man by her side, but he is definitely a Witcher. He wears the dark, sturdy armour, the twin blades across his back, and in the firelight Jaskier can almost make out the golden eyes. Unlike Geralt, the man has dark hair, cut only a little shorter than his own. And he has a grisly web of scars down one side of his face.

Yennefer seems to be mostly ignoring the Witcher’s presence as he silently leads a young black horse into the clearing, leaving him loose to pick around for thick patches of grass.

"Eskel!" Triss calls out a greeting to the approaching Witcher. "It's good to see you."

The man seems to relax a little in her presence, and his greeting is less stoic than Jaskier expects from a Witcher. "Triss, nice to see you back." He gives her a warm smile and she beams back.

She and Jaskier rise to greet him and Triss gestures to Jaskier. "Yennefer might have told you, but this is-"

"Dandelion." Yennefer cuts in to assert. Jaskier looks at her curiously but extends out a hand to the Witcher. If the man is suspicious of the exchange, he doesn't show it.

"The no doubt _infamous_ victim of an unfortunate curse. It's _very_ nice to meet you, Eskel." Jaskier drawls, just a little, as Eskel takes his hand in a firm grip as greeting. _Honey you can call me anything you like_ , he thinks. Yennefer scoffs at him.

Eskel smirks at him slightly, before dropping his hand and turning back to Triss. "As I was just telling Yennefer; I rode out as soon as we received your message. Vesemir though it would be best if you weren't left alone out here for too long."

"We're perfectly capable of looking out for ourselves." Yennefer bites out, looking insulted.

"I've no doubt." Eskel says, and bows his head toward her in thoughtful acknowledgement. "Even so," he says, letting the comment sit between them.

"Oh, don't mind her." Triss gestures for him to sit with them by the fire. "She's just prickly because I'm sure she expected to have Geralt here to insult the whole way up to the keep."

Jaskier, mortified, has dissolved into coughing and spluttering as he chokes on his laughter at the comment. His recovery takes far longer than he'd like, and Yennefer is looking at him with an expression of blatant disgust. Luckily, the newcomer seems at least a little endeared by the display and settles himself on a log to Jaskier's right.

Still scowling, Yennefer settles opposite, staring into the flames to pointedly avoid her companions. Jaskier does the only thing he can think of to try and dispel some of the tension, which is pull out a wineskin and offer it around, as well as some food.

Yennefer reluctantly takes the cup offered to her, and the Witcher pours his own into a drinking horn tied to his belt. Triss also takes a cup, and Jaskier plays up drinking straight from the wineskin at Yennefer's scowl his way. It's far too easy to rile the sorceress up, though Jaskier should probably show a little more concern for his welfare.

Eskel laughs at him, "Where'd you find this one, then? She seems a right lark."

"Just out finding new ways of making a nuisance of yourself, weren't you, _Dandelion_?" Yennefer snipes, but the barb doesn't stick.

"Why, Yennefer," Jaskier begins, "Surely you know that I make it my mission in life to be just enough of a nuisance to be well remembered wherever I go." And he largely succeeds, to be honest.

"Well, there's no accounting for taste, I suppose." Yennefer rebuts, rolling her eyes.

All of a sudden, the whole scenario is far too familiar; trading insults across the campfire with Yennefer, seated next to a Witcher. Jaskier needs to leave, he needs to be somewhere else. He stands quickly, to the startled and curious expressions of the others. "Excuse me." Jaskier is a little ashamed to say he flees.

He finds himself on the bank of the river, wider and faster than he'd expected. He settles himself on a mostly dry patch of grass that he hopes won't leave nasty stains on his clothes and watches the water. _Should've brought my lute,_ he thinks to himself. It's a perfect spot for composing; quiet, pristine, beautiful.

Jaskier's eye is caught by something hidden amongst the pebbles in the shallows. He can't make out what it is, but he's drawn by its soft glow. He feels an answering pull from the chaos hiding in his veins, and he stumbles up and over to the edge of the water.

The sound of rushing water consumes his senses as he wades into the river. The current swirls around his legs, biting cold, barely halfway up his calf. He reaches into the water, closes his hand around the source of the light and draws it out.

But, when he opens his palm, all he's holding is a cold, wet stone, just like the hundreds under his feet. The sound of the river has faded back to its natural warble, and Jaskier is left to wonder if he's imagined the whole thing.

Jaskier is pulled back to reality by the sound of a chilling growl from behind him, and the scent of rotting flesh in the air. Feeling much more foolish than scared, he turns to finds himself face to face with the horrible, stinking aquatic necrophage.

"Fuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so for some reason, I spent hours researching Eskel's horse while trying to write this chapter... whatever works right?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ambush! Battle! Heroics! Magic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An action packed chapter for an action packed week. Stay safe out there everyone ❤

Jaskier stumbles backwards, tripping over onto his ass in the frigid water. He lets out a terrified shriek as the creature lunges at him with devastatingly sharp claws. He throws himself sideways and misses losing an arm by a hairsbreadth. As he scrambles to get back to his feet, he becomes all too aware that the creature is not alone.

Jaskier is not-quite flanked by another three angry, hungry drowners, completely waterlogged, alone and useless. _Well done, Jask. Good job. I'm going to die here._

He almost drops to his knees in relief as the dark-haired Witcher crashes through the trees and onto the shoreline, drawing the attention of the slavering monsters away from Jaskier for precious moments. Using the opportunity, Jaskier flings himself into the empty space to his left, making a beeline for the shore.

So, naturally, a fifth beast emerges from the shallows right in his path, bringing him to a screeching halt. Jaskier throws a helpless glance at the Witcher, but he's currently busy engaging at least three of the other drowners. The hopelessness swells in him again, but a powerful _blast_ from the tree line sends the creature before him sprawling, and it's all he can do to keep his own footing.

He sprints toward the source of the wave of power; Triss, her hand outstretched, and next to her Yennefer, dagger drawn and palm full of chaos at the ready. He almost crashes straight into them, but Triss catches him with surprisingly strong arms, and Jaskier can't help the fearful sob that escapes him before he can compose himself.

He shakes himself off and mutters an embarrassed, "Thanks," to Triss. His heart is pounding in his ears, his breath is coming in wheezing pants, he's shaking uncontrollably, and he's fairly sure he's twisted an ankle in the dash through the rocks to shore. But he's alive, so he counts it as a win. For the moment.

Jaskier glances over at the Witcher, silver sword flashing in the moonlight and the bright flares of Igni, almost mesmerised. Eskel has neatly dispatched the first two of the drowners, and is now facing off another two, expertly battling the monsters with a sort of feral grace.

Jaskier hears Triss ask, "Should we help him?" and Jaskier's attention is drawn back to the mages at his side.

Yennefer scoffs, "I think he's got it," She returns her focus to the fifth creature, limping toward them from the river. She holds a flame bright in her palm, a determined look set on her face, and strides to meet it.

Almost too late, Jaskier hears something moving behind him, and just has time to grab hold of Triss and haul her out of harm’s way, but unfortunately not himself. A cold, clawed hand rips it way down his shoulder, tearing into his already ruined dress, as well as the skin of this shoulder.

He cries out at the pain and hears Triss call his name in alarm. She sends the assailant flying with another strong _push_ of magic. Jaskier clutches at his shoulder, hot blood seeping out in contrast to the freezing river water. " _Fuck_ ," He groans, swaying.

Ahead of them, Yen turns back from her own opponent, distracted, and Jaskier watches in horror as she faces the same fate.

"Look out!" He cries, uninjured arm reaching out to her, the power in him taking over and _yanking_ , pulling the startled sorceress back a few steps, just enough to avoid the cutting sweep of sharp claws. She stares at him, bewildered, for a moment before centring herself and turning back to the beast.

"Eskel!" Triss calls, as the Witcher cuts down his last foe. She is holding off her own drowner as Jaskier holds on to consciousness. Weakened from exertion, pain, blood loss, and _magic_ , Jaskier falls in a bit of a heap.

The Witcher races toward them and throws himself between them and the creature, blade swinging with brutal efficiency. The head of the beast thuds to the ground with a morose finality, and the dying screeches of Yennefer's beast speak of her success as well.

"Is that all of them?" Triss asks, voice betraying her concern as her hands press painfully but also soothingly at the gashes scored into Jaskier's shoulder.

Eskel looks about them slowly, carefully, before visibly relaxing. "Yeah, we're good here." Jaskier huffs out a painful laugh at the assessment.

"You'll be alright Jaskier," Triss reassures him, hands pushing firmer and _warmer_ into his shoulder. Eskel regards them curiously but says nothing.

Yennefer stalks over from the smouldering corpse of her opponent. "What _the fuck_ was that?" She demands of Jaskier, a bit inconsiderate of him _saving her skin_.

"Help?" He supplies weakly, starting to shrug and realising what a terrible idea it is halfway through, with a sharp hiss of pain. Yennefer just scowls at him in response.

"We should go back to the fire; we need to get her warm before the shock sets in." The Witcher takes the lead before Yennefer can start the tirade they can all sense coming. Triss starts to help Jaskier to stand but the Witcher waves her away, sweeping him up into strong arms, which is _lovely._

"Don't you worry Witcher, I'm plenty warm right here," Jaskier mumbles, and hears the resulting rumble of laughter echo through the broad chest. Eskel does a surprisingly good job of carrying him across the uneven ground without jostling his injured arm, for which Jaskier is eternally grateful.

Jaskier is deposited carefully onto his bed roll next to the fire, which Triss stokes into an almost uncomfortable heat. She then sits herself beside him, cutting his clothes away from the wound with a sharp dagger.

"I'm sorry about the dress," Jaskier murmurs, half a pained moan, " _Fuck,_ and I liked it too."

Triss laughs lightly, evidently more comfortable with his condition now she has her supplies. "Don't worry, we can get you another."

Jaskier smiles up at her and tries to avoid watching as her fingers work on his shoulder. "Give it to me straight, doc. Will I ever play again?" His tone is light, but his concern is real.

She grins at him, "You'll be fine so long as you look after yourself, it's just a nasty scratch." Jaskier tries not to feel chastened.

"Well, I suppose that's a relief." He concedes, though it still hurts like nothing else, now stitched up, covered with presumably magical poultice, and bound in clean fabric.

Unfortunately, now he's also aware of the creeping numbness in his fingers and toes, his clothes and shoes still soaked through. The warmth of the firelight has coils of steam rising from the fabric, but only makes Jaskier more uncomfortable, sticky with sweat, muck and blood.

"You've a change of clothes?" Triss asks, sensing his discomfort. He nods and gestures slightly with his head to the bag at the end of the bed. She calls out to Eskel, "Can you give me a hand?"

The Witcher looks abashed for a moment before Triss amends, "Just to the tent, if you please, Eskel."

Jaskier just barely stifles a giggle, "Concerned for my honour, Witcher?" He teases, head spinning slightly as he's brought to his feet between them. Once more, Jaskier feels more than hears the chuckle his comment elicits.

It's surprisingly warm and _spacious_ in the sorceresses' tent, and Jaskier tingles with the magic etched into the space, walls, poles, and furniture alike. Jaskier is left to lean precariously against the foot of a gorgeous looking bed as Eskel gives a slight bow and takes his leave, and Triss empties his bag of clothes out across the bed behind him.

Jaskier reaches one-handed to the lacing at the back of the ruined dress, and makes an attempt to loosen it, but Triss comes over and bats his hand away. "Just let me," She tells him.

Her solution is apparently to just take a dagger to the thing with a sort of gentle efficiency, which would have probably had Jaskier feeling _some type of way_ were it not for the throbbing agony in his shoulder.

"You've something of a knack of getting me out of my clothes, madam sorceress," Jaskier muses, still half delirious. She just laughs, gives him a light whack on his uninjured shoulder, and pulls the dress forward off his arms.

It is a decidedly less than pleasant undressing, however. The thick, damp fabric of the dress clings to the undershirt and tugs at the wound, leaving him gasping, and the shirt needs to be pulled up over his head, which is impossible to do without moving his arm at least a little. The muddy, bloody, torn fabric of the dress pools wetly around his ankles.

Triss, ever the professional, quickly replaces it with another shirt, soft and dry. She follows that with a warm woollen doublet Jaskier is incredibly thankful he decided to bring along. Triss straightens the shirt and doublet gently but hovers before continuing to his lower half.

Jaskier reddens but accepts the help, his fingers fiddling with a button on the doublet, "Not exactly the scenario I pictured, but I always appreciate a beautiful woman helping me out of my trousers." He jokes lightly, deeply relieved when Triss laughs along with him genuinely.

"So sorry to disappoint, bard." Jaskier looks pointedly away from her as she helps him step out of the sodden pants, and into the matching woollen trousers over thin cotton breeches and warm socks. Once everything is laced in place, Triss wraps him in a fine wool cloak, trimmed with soft, warm fur.

"Thank you," He says, for more than just the cloak. She leans next to him against the foot of the bed and nudges his good shoulder with her own.

She smiles at him, "Think nothing of it, you got this saving my hide, after all." She pulls his arm across her shoulders and helps him stumble out of the tent and into the cool night air, though he's a lot steadier on his feet now.

Eskel smiles in greeting as Jaskier settles onto his bed-roll opposite, and if the Witcher has any reaction to Jaskier's state of dress, he doesn't show it. Instead, he just holds out a bowl of stew and a torn chunk of bread.

"Get your strength up, we've still got a long walk ahead of us." He offers with the meal. Triss sets Jaskier’s boots next to the fire to dry and takes a bowl for herself as well.

While eating, Jaskier looks around the camp, "Where's Yennefer?" He realises he hasn't seen her since the fight, though in his defense, he wasn't in a position to notice her wandering off.

Eskel jerks his chin towards the tree line, "Keeping watch." He supplies and Jaskier nods absently.

The witch had seemed decidedly less grateful than Triss at his intervention earlier, for reasons Jaskier cannot fathom, and nor does he feel like trying to.

Warm, full, and exhausted, Jaskier finds himself drifting off, and sees no reason to fight it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a serious note. My deepest admiration and respect to everyone out there protesting right now, keep fighting the good fight.  
> Know your rights, listen to your organisers, look after yourselves and look out for each other.  
> tinyurl.com/blmforever for resources on other ways to help.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer is just not as entranced with Jaskier as her other companions seem to be, and she'd really just rather be anywhere else. But the strange magic bound to the bard is keeping her from running away, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh i struggled so hard with this chapter 😭😭 i am just not used to writing Yennefer yet so i hope it doesn't feel too clunky or ooc 😬

When Yennefer finally slinks back into camp that night, it's late, though not yet late enough to be early. By the fire, Yen spots the Witcher kneeling in meditation, eerily still. As she walks closer, he looks over at her, no emotion showing on the scarred face. He says nothing as he wanders off to relieve her watch over the surrounding woodland.

On her way through, she hovers by the sleeping bard. Looking surprisingly peaceful, there's no pain showing on the sleeping face, pale even in the firelight. Yennefer supposes that's a good sign.

Her thoughts drift back to the bard's sudden and dramatic departure earlier that evening. It isn't even as if she had said something _actually_ insulting. Yennefer refuses to feel responsible for something that's clearly going on only inside the fool’s head, but Triss had looked at her like she kicked a puppy, or something.

Then the bard had to go and do something even more dramatic, like go and get ambushed by a pack of monsters _~~and save her hide~~_. The injury hadn't looked too threatening when Yennefer had a peek at it, so it's likely down to shock ~~and dramatics~~ that Jaskier has been quite so affected.

 _Jaskier. Gods._ It still bristles her to think that it had taken her so long to notice the resemblance. Now that she knows, it's almost impossible to _stop_ noticing. She's not sure why it annoys her so much to have been deceived by him, she'd always paid him no mind before, it's only natural she didn't care enough to recognise him now.

The bard in question shifts slightly, face tightening a little in pain, and Yennefer shakes off her thoughts and continues on into the tent. She hardly wants to be caught watching the idiot _sleep_ , like she _cared_ or something. Though, he's likely to just think Yennefer was planning his demise, and that suits her just fine.

Inside the tent, Yen sees Triss asleep on one of the magically crafted beds, the other empty with a handful of her own belongings strewn across the coverlet. Bed and sleep seem warm and inviting, but Yennefer ignores the draw and instead strides over to the vanity table, set with a large oval mirror. She draws a simple sigil on the surface of the glass and waits.

It's not long before she receives a response. Yennefer's reflection twists and morphs into Tissaia's visage, her sharp eyes and wry smile.

"Yennefer," she greets. "Don't tell me you've grown bored already?"

Yennefer scowls, but with little malice behind it. "I don't think bored is what I would call it. The fool has already managed to get us attacked by necrophages _and_ get himself injured in the process."

Tissaia listens, quiet and amused. "Sounds eventful."

Yen rolls her eyes derisively and focuses her attention on the projected sorceress, she still looks well, no longer sickly pale. "How goes your journey, then?"

Tissaia eyes her curiously for a moment before answering, "Sabrina and I will return to Aretuza tomorrow. Then I will see how much damage has been done in my absence." The words fell bitter from her tongue.

"I can always join you if you need the help." Yennefer offers, only half-seriously.

"I told you before that your presence would likely only make my return more difficult." Tissaia says through a smirk, no bite to her words. "And besides, it's well past time you were finished with running away from your responsibilities."

Yennefer scoffs, "All this is hardly my responsibility. Apparently, I'm just the poor sap who agreed to go along."

"No matter. It's hardly my job to tell you how to live your life. You've made that very clear." Tissaia isn't one to shrug, but Yennefer can sense her internal dismissal. "Why did you call, Yennefer? Was it really just to try and get out of seeing your Witcher again?"

"He's not my Witcher." Though the comment tugs at her as though it might be right. Not that Yennefer would ever admit it. In truth, she's not entirely sure what enticed her to call. Perhaps it's just seeing Tissaia healthy again to remind her that the events of the last few days had, in fact, happened, and weren't all just part of some fever dream.

Eventually, Yennefer says, "The bard has been using more magic. When we faced the drowners, the magic pulled me out of harm's way."

"Seems to me it was more than the magic that did that," Tissaia says, eyes sparking with amusement and curiosity, to which Yennefer just rolls her own.

She continues, "Interesting that a mortal is able to wield such chaos. You should keep a close eye on your friend. All that magic may start to take its toll." Yennefer's face twists in a scowl, but she says nothing.

Tissaia, having evidently grown bored of Yennefer's silence, sighs impatiently. "I don't care what you do, Yennefer. Just sort yourself out. I have enough of my own problems to deal with." With that, the mirror clears and Yennefer's own face peers back at her.

She's not entirely sure what she got out of the conversation, and nor what she wanted. Her gaze drifts over to the tent's entrance, firmly sealed against the cold night outside, and she sighs wistfully. So far, it seems like the toll on the bard has merely been the fool getting himself injured and to be even more insufferable than usual.

Yennefer hears Triss shift a little across the room, "Was that Tissaia?" She asks, her voice heavy with sleep.

Yennefer hums a dismissive affirmation as she dresses for bed. "Don't worry, she had nothing important to say."

Triss seems to accept this and rolls back over to sleep as Yennefer slides into her own bed, sleep coming to her quickly enough in the late hour.

When Yennefer wakes, Triss is gone from the tent, and she can hear laughter from out by the fire. She dons a scowl as she dresses for the day of travel and exits into the clearing, alight with morning sun.

The three outside are chatting away cheerily. Well, Triss and the bard are chatting, the Witcher just seems to be sitting and laughing at them as he stirs a pot of presumably porridge over the fire.

Triss looks over at her with a bright, "Morning!" Before getting back to her task of re-dressing the bard's shoulder. Yennefer eyes the two of them suspiciously as Jaskier prattles on with much more enthusiasm than one would expect from someone with a gaping wound.

"You know, Triss, I don't know what you did to this, but it honestly feels better than most papercuts I've gotten before," he says, not even flinching as Triss probes gently at the bloodied bandage. Triss frowns in thought as she listens and unwinds the soiled fabric to find... nothing.

Well, nothing but for the faint lines of fading scars against pale skin. "Huh," Says Triss.

Jaskier peers down at the missing wound, "Oh neat, I didn't know you could do that."

"She didn't." Yennefer sweeps over and kneels in front of them, putting a hand over the scars. She can feel the chaos, there beneath the surface, still working away. She shares a look with Triss, who looks intrigued but not concerned. Yennefer wonders if they should be. Something in her look also says, _we'll talk about this later._

"Just as well, I say. I'm sure Eskel here wasn't looking forward to carrying your sorry ass all the way up to the keep." Triss teases the bard, to break the tension a little, Yennefer assumes.

"Oh, but I was," Jaskier returns, equally teasing, with a roguish wink her way.

From across the fire, Eskel weighs in, "If you two could stop talking about me like I'm some sort of pack-horse, that would be grand."

Yennefer watches Jaskier's face as he has to obviously tamp down what Yen can only assume is a lewd response*, due to the new pink tinge in the bard's cheeks. But he and Triss just laugh away, not unkindly, at the comment.

"If you are all quite finished, I think we should get moving." Yennefer interrupts the nauseating exchange. "Are you all going to be this insufferable the whole way there?"

Jaskier grins at her, smile wide, mischievous and completely unapologetic. "Oh yes, probably."

Yennefer almost seriously considers going back and drowning herself in the _Gwenllech_ , but instead she just stands and grabs a bowl of breakfast before slipping back into the tent. She finishes the simple meal quickly and gathers the things she will carry on the journey.

Not long after, Triss re-enters to do the same. It's her who breaks the silence. "So, what business does a curse have performing powerful healing magic like that? It's like nothing I've seen before."

Yennefer frowns slightly. "Last night Tissaia suggested that we keep an eye out for the toll it might take, but now it would seem to be the opposite."

"Perhaps," Triss says, thoughtful. "Or perhaps we should be looking for both."

Yennefer hums absently in agreement and decides to strap a sword alongside her dagger around her waist, not wanting to get caught without again, like the night before.

"And perhaps you could try to be a little more sympathetic," Triss says under her breath, not looking as Yennefer turns to her with a deep scowl.

"Perhaps _you_ should mind your own business," She snaps. "He's not my responsibility. He's not my friend. I'm here to do a job. That's all."

Triss seems unconvinced but remains quiet. With one last glance around, Yennefer leaves the tent, with Triss close behind her. They make quick work of packing it down and join the bard and the Witcher, chatting together over by the horse as they wait, having already packed up what remained of the campsite.

Yennefer hangs back from her companions as they make their way back to the road. Triss and Eskel each walk along and talk with Jaskier as if they're old friends, and not people who've only met in the last few days. She doesn't understand how the bard manages it, to be so insufferable and yet have so many people not only willing but wanting to be around him. Truly, it's a mystery.

When they break through the trees and onto the road the bard pulls out his lute like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and not _the worst possible thing_ Yennefer can imagine. She definitely reconsiders portalling off to the other side of the continent again, right now, _immediately_ , never to return.

But something in the amused glance Tris throws her is almost _daring_ her to stay, and so she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *desperately wanted to make a "packing a horse's something" joke but I don't think we're there yet 😂😂
> 
> whew did it! i was going to push though a little further in Yen's pov cause i feel like i've been neglecting her a bit but its just been /so hard/ that i'm giving up on that idea for now so sorry if that's what you're hanging out for 😭😭


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roadside singalongs. Yennefer is a buzzkill. Jaskier has had enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments 😍😍  
> Hope you enjoy 😁

Jaskier has a rather eventful breakfast of finding out he now apparently has the ability to spontaneously heal grievous wounds. And after, he spends his morning imagining how to slowly thaw out the uncomfortable tension plaguing the small party as they depart from the campsite. Almost all of this strain is emanating from the stormy presence of Yennefer, stalking along behind them like it's the last place she wants to be.

Equal parts distracting-himself and deliberately-pissing-off-a-certain-sorceress, he pulls out his lute when they hit the road. Tuning the delicate instrument on the move has almost become second nature after half a lifetime of touring the continent with a travelling companion not fond of rest stops.

Jaskier begins by just plucking out simple tunes, playing aimlessly into the sounds of the wilderness. Pretty idyllic, if he does say so himself, and a very pleasant way to spend a quiet morning, to which none of his current companions protest (aloud).

After a time Triss sidles up beside him and makes a quiet request, one Jaskier is all too happy to oblige. It's a common tune, not one he'd written, but one he'd sung probably hundreds of times before. It's warm and carousing and does well to lift the spirits of the three whose spirits are willing to be lifted.

Once that is done, and Jaskier resumes his idle plucking, Eskel call over his own suggestion and Jaskier takes it up gleefully. They pass most of the morning travelling this way. When one of his audience is at a loss for the next suggestion, Jaskier easily supplements his own. Sometimes Jaskier's singing is even joined by the hearty rumble of a Witcher, or the delightful warbling of a cheerful mage (of which there is definitely only one to be found).

Yennefer remains her dreary self, lagging behind the party looking beleaguered and letting out the occasional malcontented sigh so no one would be oblivious to her displeasure. Jaskier wishes she'd just lighten up, surely she might at least _pretend_ not to hate his guts.

He is finishing up one song just as the sun is reaching its peak in the sky, and Eskel calls out to him a rather pointed request. "So, when are you going to play Toss a Coin for us, _Dandelion_?" Well, more of an inquiry, really.

"Oh, so you _do_ know who I am." Jaskier responds, throwing the Witcher a sly smirk as he starts to play out the melody with a flourish, in place of an opening riff.

"Quite a lot of stories travel the continent about you, bard. Believe it or not, but I _have_ heard of the infamous Jaskier in my travels." A magnanimous explanation, but Jaskier doesn't feel like dampening the mood by pressing about _whose_ stories he's been hearing.

Instead, Jaskier shoots him a toothy grin, and says, "All bad things, I hope." Which sets the Witcher shaking his head at him with a laugh.

"We should make a stop here. This'll be the last good ground we see for a while; we'd best take advantage." The Witcher says in lieu of a response, amusement still evident in his voice.

Jaskier does notice the increasing cragginess of the road ahead and is thankful for the moment to pause. He decides it's probably best to back away his precious lute. The last thing he needs is to lose his footing and send it tumbling into a ravine, or something.

Jaskier seats himself on a dry, flat-ish looking stone and rummages in his pack for the food he'd packed himself for the journey. Thankfully, the bread and cheese have remained fresh and soft so far, and his apple unbruised, so he happily tucks into the small meal.

Jaskier spots Triss cautiously approaching a prickly Yennefer and watches the interaction as subtly as he can. Both mages are obviously somewhat irate, though Triss seems almost beseeching at times. He throws a curious glance over at Eskel, but the Witcher's expression gives nothing away, though Jaskier is sure he overhears the quiet conversation.

Triss evidently gives up, leaving Yennefer in what looks to be an even _fouler_ mood, and shrugs helplessly at the other two as she joins them. But Jaskier has had enough.

"Oh, _sweet Melitele._ " Jaskier curses emotively, tossing his apple core away into the brush, and makes his way over to the stormcloud-formerly-known-as-Yennefer. " _Yennefer,_ I know you went and saved the world or something, so you're above us mortals and our ridiculous little lives, and so forth. But if such a huge ordeal for you to help me w _hy are you still here_?"

She just glares up at him and opens her mouth to say something, probably snide and unhelpful, but Jaskier cuts her off. "No, seriously. I came to you for help, you did what you could, I paid you, now it's someone else's problem. You don't need to be here, and you clearly don't want to be."

Jaskier can feel the eyes of the others on his back, probably wondering if he's got a death wish. And maybe he does, but mostly he's just done with dancing around the miserable witch. If she wants to plan some horrendous punishment for him, she can just _get on with it already._ "So, why are you here? Just to pay spectacle to my misfortune?"  
  
Yennefer's jaw clenches around a response, Jaskier can almost see the gears ticking behind her eyes as she decides on what (probably hurtful) thing to say.  
  
Once again, Jaskier interrupts before she can answer. "Or perhaps you thought you'd just take this opportunity to make this all about you, as usual? _Gods_ , do you think you could, _just maybe,_ try to care about something other than yourself, just this once?"

Yennefer rises to her feet, incensed, and stalks towards Jaskier. He can taste the chaos crackling in the air around her, feeding her anger.

"Go on then," Jaskier goads. His hands shake with nervous energy, but he keeps them at his sides, standing square in front of the sorceress.  
  
"Enough." Eskel's voice cuts across the space, but it doesn't sound like a rebuke so much as a warning. Jaskier glances at him quickly and the Witcher is looking intently into the skies, searching.

"What is it?" Triss asks, sounding worried, turning her own gaze above.

"Harpies." The Witcher quickly draws his silver sword, but the answer is already evident as a horrid screeching fills the air, a swarm of winged creatures closing from the direction of the road ahead.

"Of course," Jaskier hears Yennefer mutter venomously under her breath, drawing his attention back to her. "Why the fuck not?"

She pushes past Jaskier roughly, and he can see her gathering chaos into her palms as she stands ready with the others. Jaskier hurries over in the same direction, trying to decide whether it would be better to stay as close or as far away as possible from his heavily armed companions (and the action).

Triss throws him a reassuring look, and tells him, "Stay by me," cementing his decision.

As the creatures descend upon them Jaskier feels as if he might go deaf. The shrieking is horrendous, and it resounds within him and sets him on edge.

A powerful Aard sends half of the swarm crashing to the ground, and Jaskier sees roots winding around frail limbs, binding them there as Yennefer sends a blast of flames to scorch the creatures and the ground beneath them. _Pretty neat teamwork, really,_ Jaskier observes.

The rest have scattered in the air, flying erratically, making a much more difficult target. Eskel and the two mages fan out around Jaskier, seemingly instinctively protective. Yennefer wields chaos in one hand and her sword in the other, much like the Witcher with his signs and silver flashing away in the afternoon sun. 

Triss' offensive is less flashy, but no less impressive. She has several harpies trapped between the group and the tree line, reaching branches pluck at them in the sky, driving them down into waiting roots and vines, wrapping so tight Jaskier can hear the cracking of brittle bones even over the screeching.

Jaskier tries to keep his attention on the dangerous monsters coming in low and close to attack, but there's such poetry to the fluid motion of the others moving around him. Yennefer is obviously venting her anger, the swing of her sword and flare of her chaos vicious and unyielding, whereas Eskel's slashes and signs are precise and practiced. _Gods_ , Jaskier has missed the excitement of a good battle.

A low, swooping pass from a stray beast buffets Jaskier, distracted by his companions’ efforts, and sends him reeling. He stumbles across the rocky ground and right into the path of the Witcher's incoming Igni sign.

Jaskier barely has the time to throw up his arms in front of his face and resign himself to his fate. Perhaps it’s just the delirium of being about to die that has him hearing Yennefer calling his name with _concern_ in her voice, but he has little time to dwell, as he's engulfed in flames.

_Well, bollocks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've heard of Aard the Bard, now get ready for; oh shit oh god oh fuck oh no  
> The question: do I know how to end my chapters NOT on life threatening cliffhangers  
> Answer: yes but why would I do that?
> 
> Also if you wanna see anna shaffer being just the most adorable and singing her heart out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Uk-mL5eYF4 (i love her)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tough conversations and a much-needed Truce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer Thinks Some Thoughts (it was difficult for both of us, believe me)

Yennefer sees the bard tumble into the way of the Witcher's sign, a gnawing sensation that might almost be _regret_ twisting deep in her stomach. She finds her feet carrying her across the space toward him before her mind has the time to think on it.

But the sight before her stops her fast, binding her on the spot as surely as Triss' vines. Fire slips off the bard like water, in a way that Yennefer finds almost _beautiful,_ even as she bites off a shout of alarm. The flames swirl around him for a moment before throwing themselves at the attacking beast, burning it to nothing but ash.

"What the fuck?" Jaskier croaks, eyes wide as plates boring into Yennefer's; confused, concerned, terrified. They all pause for a moment, staring wide-eyed and panting.

Then, Yennefer sees the flick of Jaskier's eyes to beyond her shoulder and she whirls in place. Her hand comes up and she catches the beast by the neck, chaos surging through her fingers, and it crumbles to dust in her palm.

This seems to jerk the others from their stupor as well, doubling down in their efforts to dispense the last of the creatures. It's not a long battle.

With all of the creatures dead and burned, Yennefer rounds on the bard. "Can't you manage to keep yourself out of trouble for 5 minutes?" She can feel her chaos cracking in the air around her, only barely under control.

Yennefer turns on the Witcher next, "And how is it that the road to a Witcher's keep is so inundated with monsters? Isn't that your whole job?" Yennefer is so profoundly _over_ the incompetency following her round on this ridiculous endeavour.

"Yennefer," Triss' voice calls to her, soft and low, like she's speaking to a wounded animal. Yennefer turns her scowl on the mage but is unable to voice her scorn as Triss goes on. "We knew the route would be dangerous when we decided on it, that was half the point. So, don't you go dragging us into this misplaced bitterness of yours."

Triss barely gives Yennefer time to let this sink in before she presses further. "And, Jaskier is right. Nothing is forcing you to be here, so you might as well stop pretending it's for any other reason than you want to be."

Yennefer narrows her eyes, readying a scathing response, but Eskel cuts her off impatiently.

"Enough of this. We've lost enough time already; we need to get back on the road." The Witcher's tone speaks to his frustration at the antics of irate sorceresses, and he looks itching to move.

Yennefer gestures exaggeratedly for him to lead the way, and he does so. Yennefer hears him mumbling something about Lambert being right about crazy witches, which she decides to ignore. Triss and Jaskier follow easily, and Yennefer grudgingly falls into step behind him them, as before.

Yennefer watches the two ahead of her as they walk silently, yet amicably. It's a complete mystery to her how quickly Triss has seemed to warm to the bard. Though, she supposes, not a complete surprise given the mage's generally friendly nature.

Perhaps, to other people, the bard's mannerisms and strange charm were actually entertaining, or even endearing. Yennefer wonders if she would have found him the same, if Jaskier wasn't so intrinsically wound in with stronger feelings of irritation, and now bitterness, which only barely pertained to him.

Yennefer watches the dejected set of Jaskier's shoulders, tight with unspoken frustration, whereas the morning had seen the performer bursting with confidence and maybe just a hint of spite. She refuses to feel guilty about the change but feels that she should maybe do _something_ to relieve tension that were all now suffering from.

Yennefer's frustration has slowly melted away as she walks along, observing the bard ahead of her. She chews on her lip for a few moments, debating, before calling out to him. "Jaskier, wait."

She sees him freeze in place and slowly turn back to look at her, confusion and apprehension clear in his expression. Triss also stops to look at her, curious.

"We should..." she starts, not sure where exactly she wants to go with the statement, and pride choking her words just a little. "We should talk."

Jaskier frowns, deep lines of confusion and concern contorting his face. "Alright," he says, a little reluctantly.

He and Triss share a brief look of reassurance before she continues off again after the Witcher. Jaskier hovers in place while Yennefer comes astride with him, falling into step with her hesitantly.

Yennefer isn't quite sure what to say, now that she's got him here. "I'm not sure know how I'm supposed to tolerate you." She tries, which is absolutely not what she means to. She watches Jaskier's face twist bitterly and tries again.

"What I mean is..." She hates herself for sounding so uncertain. "I don't know how to like you."

Jaskier stops short again and turns to face Yennefer sharply. His gaze bores into hers and the confusion she sees there is no longer tainted with dread but sparking with curiosity.

"I've never asked you to like me, Yennefer." His tone is carefully blank.

"It's like I can't even fathom how to," Yennefer continues, as if he hasn't spoken. She looks away from him, perplexed. "Even if I wanted to."

Jaskier mulls that over for a moment, silent. After a time, so quietly she can barely make it out, she hears, "I know the feeling."

They start forward again, and some of the tension has drained from each of them as they walk on together. Triss and Eskel are also walking together, quite a way ahead. Yennefer is well aware that their conversation is still probably audible to the keen-eared Witcher, but she appreciates the gesture, if she'd never admit it.

The sun is shining high and hot in the sky, and walking like this, it’s almost as if the bard is completely unchanged. By the years separating their last meeting, or by the curse. Somewhere along the line the bard had pulled his woollen shirt open for relief for the heat, the loose shirt hiding the form beneath surprisingly well. The whole picture is just too familiar.

"Everything I know of you is all wrapped up in _him_. It's hard for me to see you outside of that. Judge you outside of that." She watches him take in her words from the corner of her eye. He nods along and she can sense that he understands all too well what she means. "What was it that made you dislike me? Pettiness? Jealousy? Indulge me, if you will."

"Oh, couldn't possibly have been the threatening of my life, or manhood. Definitely had to have been jealousy." He laughs a touch spitefully, before sighing and taking a more serious tone.

"I was trying to protect him, actually. From you, if you can believe it." He shakes his head with another laugh, fondness and bitterness mingling in his tone like old friends. "I always knew you'd hurt him."

Her own bitterness clutches at her heart. "He gave as good as he got."

He eyes her sceptically, but wisely says nothing to dispute it. Instead, he concedes, "But, yes, I do suppose I was also jealous."

"A fool could see that, Jaskier." Yennefer taunts flippantly, but her tone softens infinitesimally as she also concedes, "I think I was too, sometimes."

Jaskier's scepticism grows. "Gods, I don't know what you ever had to be jealous of. Geralt liked me, I know he must have to keep me around so long. And maybe he even trusted me. But he never saw me. I was always just... part of the scenery. He _saw_ you." The bard starts confidently, but becomes quieter, more tentative as he speaks. Both ignore the way they flinch when Jaskier speaks the Witcher’s name.

Yennefer thinks back to that night on the mountain. _You're important to me,_ he'd said. It hadn't been a _lie_ , she supposes, just not the whole truth. And she thinks back to Jaskier's words by the fire, mere days ago now. "You said to me that I would drop in and out of his life, no thought to the consequences. But that was _you._ "

The bard stops again beside her, dumbstruck. She continues, and fights to keep the emotion out of her voice. "I'm _bound_ to him. I've never had a _choice._ Everything I do is a consequence of _his_ choice. You got to just be there _just because you wanted to._ "

His face twists with emotion, settling on a sort of dark amusement. "And just look at how well that turned out for me. Hell of a burden to be the sole cause of a Witcher's every misfortune, but I managed it like a champ." Jaskier does another one of his little flourishing bows, sarcasm seeping from his very pores.

"I'm sure you did, bard." Yennefer can't help but laugh a little, but her amusement fades quickly as she makes her next confession. "I think you were right, by the way."

Jaskier gasps and puts a hand over his mouth dramatically and Yennefer rolls her eyes and ignores him.

"Before, when you said I was only here for myself. You're probably right." She pinches the bridge of her nose, forcing the rest out. "It's just an excuse to see him again, isn't it? An excuse to show up, hurt the both of us, and run away again."

"Perhaps," Jaskier huffs out with a laugh. "Am I any better though? I could have gone to any mage on the continent, but I found you. Maybe I was hoping it would bring me back to him as well. And here we are."

As that hangs in the air between them Yennefer is mortifyingly aware of how much they have revealed to each other. She clears her throat, a little awkwardly and they continue walking again.

"So, where does this leave us?" Jaskier asks tentatively.

"How about a truce?" Yennefer suggests teasingly. "There'll be enough drama to face up at the keep for us to go around causing it for each other. What do you say?"

"I'd say that sounds brilliant," Jaskier breathes out, sounding relieved and exhausted. He sticks out a hand for her to shake. "Truce, then."

Yennefer takes it and makes a note of the familiar tingle of magic beneath her fingers as she does. "Truce."

Jaskier drops the hand and looks ahead to Eskel and Triss, yards ahead of them. "Well, we'd better get a move on, or we'll never make it up to the keep anyway."

Yennefer laughs easily, a weight off her chest, and they trudge off after their companions, the rest of the afternoon and evening passing by much more pleasantly. By the time the small party makes a stop for the night, the last stretch of the journey laid out ahead of them for the morning, the companionable atmosphere seems almost natural.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perchance, is Yennefer beginning to care about our insufferable bard??


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer's imminent arrival at Kaer Morhen has Geralt feeling restless, though the reunion proves even more eventful than he had anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohoho here we are folks - Kaer Morhen at long last

Triss's message to the Keep is unexpected and somewhat cryptic, and leaves Geralt feeling restless. Not _nervous_ , just restless _._ He's not keen on the idea of welcoming a stranger into Kaer Morhen with Ciri still at risk, regardless of Triss's assurances that the cursed mortal is both harmless and trustworthy. He's not sure how Triss could have come to such a conclusion after so little time, though Vesemir had been happy enough at her word.

As much as Geralt is loath to admit it, another cause for his restlessness is the return of Yennefer. Though Triss had only said that Yennefer _may_ join them, he has little doubt that they will be thrown together once again. Optimistically, Geralt muses that she will likely not stay at Kaer Morhen long. Most probably, only long enough for them to understand, and perhaps reverse this curse, and then she'll disappear again until their next ill-fated meeting. It should be easy enough to avoid her in the meantime, it's a big, mostly empty keep after all.

Alongside Geralt, the three other Wolf-School Witchers have remained in Kaer Morhen: Vesemir, Lambert and Eskel. All of them holed up long past the thawing of winter, as company and protection for the young princess. Geralt isn't sure whether the decision was made with only the safety and secrecy of their new ward in mind or whether each of them was in some way grateful for the excuse to stay and help with her training, but either way he is glad for their company and guidance.

Training Ciri has been almost like having a new initiate again, though she is much older now than any young boy ever left at the keep for Witcher training in times past. The girl enjoys fighting, much to Lambert's delight, and is a quick enough study to bore easily, much to Vesemir's chagrin. And they are all deeply grateful for Triss's presence, after seeking her help once it became clear that Ciri’s magical ability surpassed even Eskel's in terms of power and proficiency.

Geralt will be just as grateful for Triss’s return. She and Ciri have grown quite close in their months of training and her company will be a welcome distraction for the girl. He expects Ciri will also appreciate the return to her magical studies, and the break from some of the drudgeries of the Witchers' teachings. He's sensed Ciri growing impatient and bored with only the Witchers around for company, even before the tension Geralt now carries with him in anticipation of the sorceresses’ arrival.

He’s aware that Ciri has begun to notice his _restlessness_. The last time Geralt had a brush with Yennefer, he and his young ward had still barely known each other. Geralt had tried to shield the girl from his mood in the weeks that followed he and the sorceress' latest (and once again, somewhat tumultuous) separation, but he knows that she had noticed anyway. He's sure his uneasiness is worrying her now in much the same way.

Once upon a time, Geralt might have fled the keep entirely to escape his growing discomfort, as well as give his companions a break from his mood. He would have gone off on the hunt until the other Witchers had sorted out the whole matter themselves. But now, Geralt has no intention of leaving Ciri behind, and even less to take her with him beyond the safety of the keep.

These feelings _might_ grow into nervousness as he watches Eskel speed off from the Keep and into the winding valley below, but Geralt knows far better than to try and _talk_ to Vesemir, or gods forbid, Lambert, about his discomfort. He wishes that his Witcher brethren would hold off on the snide remarks about it too, though Geralt suspects it would feel more unnatural for them not to do so.

So, with few options left, Geralt has been left to just _wait_ , and hope the whole ordeal is less eventful than the last. A wait which lasts two nights and most of a morning, until he finally hears the call go up from Lambert on watch, that he's seen the group approaching up the winding path of the Killer.

Geralt starts to make his way down to the main entrance, almost bumping straight into Ciri as the girl races past on her way down. She's wearing a wide, mischievous grin as she challenges him to race down to the gate. Caught up in the joy in the young girl's face as she shoots by him, Geralt doesn't stop to think of the implications of _literally_ running to meet the arrivals, to Yennefer.

The two of them wind their way down hidden paths, some well-worn and others newly trodden. He wins the race, of course; age, experience and mutation working too heavily in his favour to give poor Ciri a decent chance. Though, Geralt is impressed to notice, she manages to keep quite close behind him for most of the way.

They meet Lambert already standing in wait by the open gate, with Vesemir still making his way over, looking fondly exasperated - as Ciri had probably deserted him in the middle of a lesson for her race with Geralt. He shrugs apologetically in the old Witcher’s direction.

Geralt's turns his eye to the figures approaching from the road. Eskel leads Scorpion at the front, chatting amicably with Triss by his side, and behind them is Yennefer.

Geralt is as affected as ever by her presence. The breeze carries up that memorable scent of _lilac and gooseberries,_ invading his senses with all that is her _._ It permeates his thoughts, and twists in his gut. Something about it is familiar in a way he can't place, which he brushes off as sentimentality and nostalgia of being deprived of it so long.

His throat swallows dryly, and he shakes off the fog clouding his senses. He can't bring himself to tear his gaze from her, though she seems reluctant to meet his eye. She wears her standard faire of striking attire, though perhaps a little muted for the convenience of travel, and she is looking, Geralt thinks a little smugly, fairly tense.

"Triss!" Geralt is distracted briefly by Ciri racing past him with a delighted cry, as she flings herself into the arms of the amused sorceress.

"Princess Cirilla! Look at you! You look even taller than when I left. Are you sure these they haven't been sneaking mutagens into your gruel?" Triss' teasing and Ciri's bright smile warm Geralt's heart, and he even hears Vesemir give a chuckle.

"If anyone would be sneaking her potions, it's most likely to be you, _witch_ ," Lambert calls by way of greeting, not as snidely as Geralt is sure he intended, and Triss strikes him with a half-hearted glare. Ciri releases her in favour of tackling Eskel, who swings her, giggling, up into Scorpions saddle.

"I'm not sure why we'd want to do that, when you'd make such a better mark, _Witcher_." Yennefer cuts through with a bit more real bite to her words. Geralt glances back at her and sees her arms crossed against her chest.

"Yennefer," Vesemir rumbles out, halfway between a warning and a greeting, his placid smile giving away none of his intent.

Yennefer inclines her head in response, somewhat respectful. Yennefer must sense Geralt's eyes are still on her, as she returns his gaze with a strangely curious expression, and Geralt tilts his head slightly in question.

"And who have we got here then, our poor cursed soul?" Vesemir continues, and the prompt has Geralt finally turning to scrutinise the final member of the party.

Geralt is struck dumb at the sight. He's sure he's going mad. It's got to be. It can't be.

"Hmm." Is what he says, which he thinks adequately conveys his reaction to the situation. Outlandishly familiar performers' garb, lute strap looped over one shoulder, pulling open the garishly coloured doublet, _never fucking laced right._ It _can't_ be.

"Well, I suppose you could say that," the strange woman answers Vesemir, tone hauntingly familiar, not sparing a glance for Geralt. "Though these days I'm going by Dandelion, apparently."

Through the twisting in his gut, Geralt manages a growled, " _Jaskier_." He inwardly winces at the unintended harshness of his tone and watches as Yennefer shifts almost imperceptibly between them, which Geralt isn't at all prepared to contemplate.

"Yes, that too." The woman-who-is-apparently-Jaskier pulls a sour face but still doesn't otherwise acknowledge Geralt.

"Hmm," he says once more, with feeling.

"So, which is it then?" Ciri's voice cuts through the tension like a knife. It's hard to tell whether the girl is curious or suspicious, as she's become all too good at hiding her intent behind wide innocent eyes. Geralt is sure he has Eskel and Lambert to blame for this new talent.

The bard turns to the girl and bows deeply, evidently having lost none of that overdramatic flair. "I suppose it's just a little bit of both, Princess. It's a great honour to make your acquaintance." The statement leaves Ciri looking chuffed, if still curious.

Geralt can feel the eyes of the others as they flick between himself and Jaskier, as if gauging the tension between them, waiting for some sort of eruption. In the end Geralt just sighs and turns back to the keep, lamenting that he had ever hoped this endeavour could have been _uneventful._ Destiny, apparently, always had other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it doesn't seem too anti-climactic! I didn't want it to go on for too long, so i've pushed most of the confrontation to the next chapter 🙈


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations are had. Not all of them amicable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy exposition Batman!  
> To make up for a) the short previous chapter and b) the wait - have a bit of a monster! 
> 
> The working summary for this chapter was as follows:  
> Stepping into the ring, we have:  
> Julien "Jaskier" "Dandelion" Alfred Pankranz: (former lover?) ex-best friend  
> Yennefer of Vengerberg: former lover  
> Triss Merigold: former (current?) lover  
> Vs  
> Geralt of Rivia: Witcher, fucked.  
> Unfortunately, we only had time for one of these cat fights today, so the tag team will be squaring up again in the future 😂😂😂  
> 

The decision to give Geralt the cold-shoulder isn't entirely one Jaskier has made consciously. There are somehow just far too many thoughts running through his head, and not one of them clear or coherent enough for him to have anything to say aloud. So, he feels it's best to say nothing at all until he knows what it is he wants to say.

Dropping back to come alongside Jaskier, natural as anything, Triss hooks an arm through his and pulls him toward the Keep and off in the direction of the retreating surly, white-haired Witcher. Yennefer falls into step at her side with a practiced look of boredom Jaskier recognises well. Jaskier appreciates the attempt to curb some of the awkwardness settling over the group after the odd exchange.

The older of the two Witchers Jaskier hasn't yet been introduced to regards the three of them for a moment, almost seeming amused. He calls out to the girl still astride the black stallion. "Ciri, why don't you take Scorpion off to the stables for a groom and a good meal while we settle in our guests, then we'll prepare ourselves some lunch?"

The young princess does not look happy to heed the suggestion, a rather unsubtle dismissal, but doesn't object. She easily steers the mount away toward the stables after another long curious look between Jaskier and the two mages.

"Right then _Dandelion,_ we can get to the bottom of _whatever that was_ ," the shorter, snippy Witcher gestures after Geralt _, "_ later. But I'm sure right now we'd all like to know what the fuck kind of curse brings two know-it-all witches halfway across the continent. Other than our superior expertise, of course."

Yennefer's levels a hard glare at him, but the Witcher remains unruffled. Eskel laughs and claps a hand down on his shoulder heavily.

"No need to be so prickly, Lambert," He placates. "We're all friends here, and I'm sure we'd all much rather go over the whole thing inside, over an ale instead of out here on the doorstep."

Lambert grumbles but concedes, and the two also start off toward the main entrance to the keep, where Geralt has just disappeared into a sturdy stone doorway.

As they walk on, Jaskier has a quiet moment to look around at the inside of the Witcher Keep. It's not quite what Jaskier expected, though he's not exactly sure what it was that he had. Perhaps servants or acolytes, bustling about with their duties? Or maybe, scores of Witchers in training; researching, fighting, resting, filling the space with life and action? What he hadn't anticipated was the _silence_.

Even with the added tension of Geralt's awkward reunions, it isn't hard to guess that this is more occupants than Kaer Morhen has seen in decades. The dilapidated fortress is completely empty but for the four Witchers, Geralt's new ward, and now their small party. It's a chilling thought, but Jaskier muses that it does explain Geralt's trademark quiet, steely demeanour.

The inside shows the same wear and age as the outer walls but does look much better kept. It's clean, mostly neat, and comfortably warm, which is a nice surprise. Jaskier had half expected it to be freezing, all warmth stolen away by the cold stone walls, but they're greeted by the crackling away of a modest fire tucked into the grand fireplace.

A table sits before it, flanked by well-worn benches, cluttered with books, papers bottles and tankards. Geralt stands beside it, leaning over the fire and turned away from the entrance. His shoulders are rigid, drawn together with tension. At the sound of the others making their way over he turns, looking tired and dour.

Jaskier avoids his gaze and finds himself ushered onto a bench, flanked on either side by a sorceress. The Witchers settling themselves in the bench opposite, leaving Jaskier feeling more than a little caged in, but he swallows the feeling down. Geralt stays by the fire, ignoring the curious glances of his comrades.

The older Witcher, sat between the other two, is the first to speak. "First things first, a proper introduction. I am Vesemir, and this tactless fool here is Lambert." The short haired Witcher sneers as Vesemir gestures toward him.

"Very nice to meet you both," Jaskier returns with a grin and hold his hand out across the table to Vesemir. "Julian Alfred Pankrantz, Viscount de Lettenhove, at your service. Though as I said, recently I've been going by Dandelion."

The grey haired Witcher takes his hand an amused smile of his own.

“Though of course, to most of the continent I’m known as Jaskier." Jaskier adds on as an afterthought, pulling twin snorts of derision from Yennefer and Geralt, which Jaskier steadfastly ignores.

"Wait, Jaskier _the bard?"_ Lambert splutters, looking sceptically between Vesemir and the bard in question.

"Yes, do keep up." Yennefer drawls, as if it hadn't taken her almost two whole days to recognise _Jaskier the bard_ herself. Jaskier and Triss share a conspiratorial glance and he has to force down the small chuckle threatening to escape and ruin his and Yennefer’s new and fragile truce.

Then Lambert turns to Geralt, "So what's got your knickers in a twist? I thought the two of you were friends?" Geralt's shoulders tighten further but he gives no response to the comment.

Jaskier laughs once, sharp and bitter, but doesn't elaborate. ' _Me too,'_ is burning a hole in his tongue as he holds it back. Instead, he swallows and shakes off the unpleasant memories. "Come now, I'm not here to talk about _my dear old friend Geralt,_ I'm here to remove a curse, if you please."

Geralt's eyes meet his for a moment, looking pained. Jaskier isn't in the mood to examine the guilt he might see there, so he turns back to the other Witchers. Vesemir and Eskel are watching him curiously, and Lambert remains suspicious.

"If your cryptic messages and expeditious arrival are any indication, presumably there's more to this curse than meets the eye." Vesemir inserts, aiming the statement at Triss and gesturing vaguely to Jaskier's affected visage. "Why don't we start with what you know?"

Triss turns to Jaskier as if for confirmation to go ahead and he waves her on, knowing there's no explanation he could give that a trained sorceress couldn't give better. She considers her words for a moment before beginning, "As you can see, the physical manifestation of this curse appears simple, obvious, but beneath this is we have found something far stronger."

"You most likely heard, or surmised, that Tissaia never returned to Aretuza after the Battle of Sodden Hill. And from that you could probably guess that she was injured there." Yennefer shifts uncomfortably at Jaskier's side as Triss continues. "Those of us that were aware of her condition went to great lengths to keep the full extent from public knowledge, or at least, we thought so."

Triss frowns across Jaskier at Yennefer, as if something has just occurred to her, but she doesn't pause in her telling. "The Nilfgaardian mage, Fringilla, poisoned her lungs with dimeritium. I'm sure you can imagine the extent of the damage of an attack like that. You know I had to cut my time short here, and for the last month I've been doing my best to just keep her alive."

The faces of the Witchers show no surprise, nor concern, just curiosity at the tale being woven. Vesemir gestures Triss to continue and Triss looks to Jaskier from the corner of her eye, smirking slightly.

"Then in waltz these two, right into our cloaked refuge, at eat other's throats. Yen's got no idea-" Triss is cut off by what Jaskier can only assume is a magical kick to the shin, and he hides a snort behind his hand as Yennefer quietly fumes. Triss clears her throat and continues. "All he had to do was sit and hold her hand, and the dimeritium was purged completely from her system, by this "curse". Cured her, you could say."

Jaskier might laugh at the shared looks of furrowed-browed confusion on each of the four Witchers if it isn't so damn concerning. Again, Vesemir waves her to go on without commenting.

This time, it's Yennefer who speaks. "Since then, there have been several instances of seemingly instinctual magic. As I'm sure our escort can attest to." She scowls toward Eskel, but it doesn't seem pointed.

"You mean like saving both our lives?" Triss interjects, sounding amused.

Yennefer scoffs and rolls her eyes, "If you want to call it that, sure. Seemed a lot more like looking out for his own hide to me."

Jaskier can't leave that lying there, "Oh, you mean like when you tried to slit my throat?" He asks lightly, going for teasing and hoping it doesn't come across as snide. She glares, but he _thinks_ he sees amusement in her eyes, so he waves off her reaction airily. "Oh, don't worry, water under the bridge, darling. I don't hold it against you."

"Have I told you yet how much I appreciate that you two have decided to get along," Eskel comments from across the table and Jaskier throws him a wink as the sorceresses to either side of him laugh, the four of them ignoring the bugging eyes of the other Witchers observing the exchange.

Jaskier hears a low, rumbling 'Hmm,' from Geralt, who turns away, back to the fireplace in lieu of watching the strange display. He looks so tense he might snap and collapse into several pieces, like a log that's just burnt all the way through over a fire. It gives Jaskier a small, spiteful thrill to see him so uncomfortable, but he supposes it's not a far cry from how the man acts under normal circumstances anyway.

Vesemir clears his throat pointedly to draw everyone's attention back to the matter at hand. He catches Jaskier's eye and holds it, steady and disconcerting. "These magical abilities, were you aware of them before you sought out the mages for help?"

Jaskier swallows dryly. "Well I don't know that I'd call them _abilities_ , I'm not sure if I've any control over it at all. Seems to just happen really. Um, to answer your question, I think no? I didn't really notice anything different until I sat down and let _Tissaia de Vris_ go poking around in my head. And now, apparently, I'm my own guardian angel." His long-winded answer comes quickly, and he hopes coherently.

Yennefer scoffs at him, and Jaskier has to wonder whether she has any other reactions to give, or whether she's just perpetually incredulous at the world. Perhaps it's just him.

The old Witcher looks away, finally, and down at the table, brow furrowed deep in thought. "How long would you say you've been afflicted?" He says, after a moment.

"It's probably been just over a month, by now." Jaskier counts to himself for a moment. "What's it been? Three, four days since I found Yennefer? _Gods_ , it feels like so much longer. But yes, that's about right."

"What took you so long to come looking for help?" Lambert queries, still holding onto his suspicion.

"Well, Witcher, I was rather enjoying myself," Jaskier responds, with a sultry wink. He can see the slight twitch of amusement in the man's face, though the expression is schooled away quickly.

"Now, let me guess," Geralt finally speaks up from the back, annoyance obvious in his gravelly tone. "It has simply outlived your amusement."

"You'd know something about that, wouldn't you?" Jaskier levels him with what he hopes is a withering glare, ignoring his minute wince, and the uncomfortable shifting of the others around them. "Let's just say, the whole experience has rather lost its novelty," He says evenly, holding Geralt's gaze and daring further commentary.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Geralt does not deliver. Instead, he leans back against the wall behind him, arms crossed in front of him, and abruptly changes the subject. "A curse like this, there's got to be something binding it to you. A mark."

Jaskier sighs impatiently. "Yes, I'm quite familiar with the concept of curses, Geralt, as you should be well aware. There is no mark, I've checked."

"How can you be sure?" Geralt's eyes bore into him with the question.

"I promise you; my search was quite extensive, and not unaided. But you're welcome conduct your own if it will satisfy your curiosity." Jaskier is quietly delighted at the surprisingly bashful expression the suggestion elicits, and if he were able, Jaskier thinks that the Witcher might almost have blushed.

"It's possible," Vesemir interrupts patiently, even though Jaskier can see he seems to be tiring of their bickering, "That the form itself _is_ the mark. And not the intended consequence of the curse."

"That would have taken a considerable amount of power." Triss remarks thoughtfully and Eskel nods in agreement.

"What about this has ever indicated differently?" Yennefer quips. "We've only the bard's word that he hasn't pissed off someone truly powerful, and that's no certainty the fool didn't manage to without being aware of it."

"Hey! Uncalled for." Jaskier pouts at the sorceress, so much for their so-called truce.

She just rolls her eyes at him and continues, unaffected. "We'll likely find nothing of consequence from him about where the curse came from, or who laid it. We came here with the hope there would be something helpful to be found in one of those dusty old tomes of yours."

Vesemir cups his chin, fingers scratching at his cropped grey beard, deep in thought. After a moment, he nods, "Aye, we probably have that. And I'd say we've got just enough time for a cursory glance around the library before we should start preparing for lunch. Geralt, you can let Ciri know where we'll be?"

The Witcher nods once, slow and clear, as the six of them rise from the table. His eyes are on Jaskier, expression unreadable. "We'll join you shortly."

Jaskier realises that the gaze pinning him to the spot is doing exactly as intended, so he lowers himself back to the bench as Triss and Yennefer pass him with a reassuring pat on his shoulder, and disappear with the Witchers up a flight of stairs. Jaskier continues to watch Geralt, suspicious yet curious, taking in his awkward, abashed expression.

Geralt surprises him by moving to take a seat opposite him, and he's close enough that Jaskier can smell the Keep on him. Stone dust and sweat, hay, horses, leather, and smoke from the fire. Jaskier forces himself not to react to the proximity, bracing an elbow on the table and resting his chin on his palm, the image of patient expectation.

" _Jaskier_ ," Geralt says the word surprisingly softly, not as reluctantly as the clenched hands resting on the table imply. "I owe you an apology."

Jaskier says nothing, waving him on with his free hand, his expression carefully blank.

Geralt swallows and looks down at his hands, opening them and staring down at his palms for a moment. He looks back up into Jaskier's eyes as he speaks, earnest. "I'm sorry. For the way I behaved on that mountain. For the way I spoke to you. What I said to you. It wasn't fair."

Jaskier smiles coolly. The sincerity is refreshing, but hardly sufficient. "Is that all?" Jaskier almost regrets his cruel tone at the look of hurt and confusion the question elicits, almost.

"Two years Geralt." He holds himself unnaturally still, because otherwise he worries he might start visibly shaking. His heart is pounding and he's sure Geralt can hear it, but he tries to push through the nerves. "It's been two years. Do you seriously think I'm still angry at you for something mean you said to me _two years ago_?"

Geralt's brows draw together and his mouth opens to respond, but Jaskier holds up a hand to stop him. "I'm not a child. I'm not even a young man, anymore. Two decades we've known each other, travelled together. Not once would you call me friend. And that was _fine_ , because I learnt not to need that to know what we shared. Perhaps it would have been nice, once in a while, but I digress."

Jaskier sits up straight and leans back from the table, away from the silent Witcher. "Tell me Geralt, did you think of me often as our world fell into war and chaos? I thought of you. I thought you _died_. All of you. Cintra, and then Sodden Hill... I thought perhaps I was the lone survivor, sole witness to this whole tragedy of errors. Perhaps I wouldn't fault you for not thinking to drop me a line, big important destiny things and such, if it weren't for those _twenty two years,_ Geralt."

Geralt looks back down at his hands, curled tight into white-knuckled fists once again. Jaskier can see him take steady, deliberate breaths and wonders whether it's anger or regret he's trying to supress.

"I was almost _glad_ to find myself cursed. I thought, at the very least, this unfortunate event might grant me the circumstances to enquire after your fate from someone who might actually be able provide me with an answer," Jaskier continues, a bittersweet confession. He gestures between them with a hand, "And was I wrong?"

Jaskier freezes in place as Geralt's hand grasps his wrist in mid-air. Firm, steady fingers holding him in place through the fabric of his tunic. Jaskier glares at him with his chin held high, looking defiant he hopes, and not petulant.

" _Jaskier_ ," the terse, gravelly tone has returned, and Geralt's face is pinched with what could either be guilt, or annoyance.

A sudden shiver of hot anger shoots up Jaskier’s spine, set off by the familiar tone of frustration, the heavy hand clutching at Jaskier's arm. "You got your _peace,_ Geralt. And now I have mine. So why don’t you leave it at that and leave me _alone_." With his free arm he pulls at the hand holding him fast, and with a shock like lightning Geralt yanks his hand away.

Jaskier stumbles a little as he pushes himself away from the table and up off the bench. He knows he should stop, should stay, see what's just happened but he _can't_. Anger and _power_ are seething in his blood. He keeps walking, out the way he came and into the fresh air, Geralt left gaping after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaah sorry guys, I didn't mean for Jaskier to get quite so Big Mad but it got away from me a little bit  
> Hope yall like some t e n s i o n - my boy Jaskier has a TEMPER apparently oop
> 
> *Edit* I just realised I literally  
> Jaskier: "Do you seriously think I'm still angry at you for something mean you said to me two years ago?"  
> Jaskier not five minutes later: brings up something mean Geralt said /10+ years ago/  
> 🤦🤦🤦 #unintentionallyhilarious


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is at a loss for words (but what's new?), and Yennefer has a poke around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me its been a long few weeks 😅🙈

Geralt feels wound tight enough to snap, watching after Jaskier. His ears are ringing and the back of his hand tingles where Jaskier's fingertips had made contact. There is a bitter taste in his mouth and something twisting deep in his belly that could be chaos, or regret.

Jaskier's words are swimming in his ears, the hurt and anger once hiding behind a cool, aloofness, now brought to the surface. Geralt can't get the image of the bard's livid, pained expression out of his mind's eye. And he can't deny Jaskier's point, what right does Geralt have to Jaskier's friendship, his forgiveness, after so many years of denouncing the very idea?

Geralt debates following after Jaskier, but his thoughts are interrupted by the sound of movement from the floor above. Triss and Yennefer look down at him from the top of the stairs, curious and concerned.

"Jaskier? Geralt?" Triss calls down, and Geralt remains silent as the two of them descend the stone staircase. "What's happened? We sensed something."

So, it _was_ chaos he felt from Jaskier's touch. Geralt looks down at his hand, making no effort to answer, it bears no mark of the strange shock he received.

The two mages must surmise at least part of what's happened from Geralt sitting alone, staring forlornly at the empty space Jaskier had been occupying. With barely a glance his way Yennefer asks, not kindly, "What idiotic thing have you said to the bard this time?"

Geralt scowls at her and tells her to fuck off. Or at least, he tries to.

He tries again. ' _Hmm_ ,' He says. Only, he doesn't.

Yennefer takes in his difficulty with little more than a faint quirk of her brow, though Triss's concerned expression deepens. "Geralt?" She asks again.

' _I don't know.'_ Geralt's mouth opens, forms the words, and yet there is no sound. His frown deepens and he huffs impatiently. He looks between the mages despondently and is unimpressed to catch Yennefer barely suppressing a particularly amused smirk.

She shares a knowing look with Triss and slides gracefully into the seat opposite Geralt, the very same Jaskier had just vacated. Geralt find his hands clenching on the table again, and he tries to school the scowl off his face. The last thing he needs is to do something to offend her as well.

Yennefer watches him thoughtfully, and Geralt can feel the faint touch of her chaos at the edge of his consciousness. Eyes still on him, Yennefer says to Triss, "Why don't you go and find Cirilla. I can take care of this, for now."

"And Jaskier?" Triss's replies pointedly. Geralt tears his eyes away from Yennefer's for a moment to see her expression. She's looking between them, unmoving, her expression hard, bordering on judgemental.

Yennefer returns her gaze and responds, frighteningly sincere, "I'll talk to him, after."

Geralt's gaze flits back to Yennefer as Triss turns to leave, her expression now fractionally tighter, cooler. Geralt makes no attempt to speak again yet, instead waiting for her to break the silence. She seems to realise this and in a blink her expression clouds with a sort of bitter amusement.

"Waste of a curse, stealing your tongue. Hard to say what it's good for at all, except causing trouble," She says, flippant and sardonic. Geralt still doesn't try to speak, neither of them needing a reminder of such troubles anyway, good _or_ bad. And besides, he's not about to argue the point. He cocks his head slightly, eyes full of silent questions.

Yennefer sighs, something tired in her violet eyes, and she bring a hand up to Geralt's face. Two fingers are pressed lightly to his temple and he steels himself against the sensation of her thoughts bleeding into his. He fights not to close his eyes and tamps down on tendrils of thought stealing through irrelevant moments.

With a glare Geralt guides her prying to more pertinent memories. Yennefer appears completely unrepentant as she directs her focus, settling on Jaskier. Jaskier's eyes burning with red-hot anger, Jaskier's voice spitting out hurt-filled words, Jaskier's hand on Geralt's wrist, and the hot spark of lightning at the instant of contact.

The moment seems to slow under Yennefer's narrowed attention and Geralt's hand begins to tingle anew, buzzing stronger than ever. This time the sensation spreads up his arm, as if chasing the witch's touch, and Yennefer's fingers trace down to meet the swirling chaos at the pulse point on his neck.

Geralt swallows around a dry throat, his eyes coming into focus on the striking violet of Yennefer's. Hers still seem hazed, still looking within him, beyond him. Geralt feels his pulse beating beneath her fingertips, if he were more of a man it would be rabbiting beneath her touch, he's sure, but it remains slow and steady as ever.

Evidently satisfied with her findings, Yennefer comes back into herself. The moment hangs in the air between them, Yennefer's fingertips hovering at his throat, their eyes locked on each other, barely a breath between them. Yennefer snatches her hand away quickly, breaking the spell, and her face settles into a frown.

"The magic is the same. It's likely there's nothing we'll be able to do about this little trick until we've found a solution for the situation as a whole. In the meantime, you'll live." Yennefer looks away from him, keeping herself the very picture of disaffected calm as she voices her musings. Geralt can see through it, but he lets her save face.

"It's hard to say whether the intention behind this was _his_ , or the work of something deeper. I'm sure it won't be too hard to find out," She continues, her casual demeanour growing more natural. "Still, perhaps I should watch what I say around the fool. I'd hate to end up the same."

Geralt quirks a brow in a manner that he hopes conveys his reaction to the irony, and he's fairly sure his scepticism at her ability to follow her own advice shows plain. Yennefer's scowl deepens and she too pushes away from the table, away from him.

"Now," Yennefer brushes out the creases in her dress as she stands. "I'm off to clean up another one of _your_ messes. With any luck I won't find the bard beneath a pile of rubble somewhere in this godforsaken ruin you call a Keep."

_'Yennefer,'_ Geralt reaches out and presses into the last touches of her thoughts with his own as she sweeps away from him. _'Be careful.'_

Whether she hears or heeds him, Geralt gets no sign, but she pauses for just a moment to pick up a small bag left down by the table, Jaskier's. He watches her leave, completely silent and completely still, and lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding as the old oak door drifts closed behind her.

Geralt knows he should wait for Triss to return with Ciri, or check in and reassure Vesemir and the others, but he finds himself reluctant for further company. Quite rightfully, he thinks, after the eventful morning he's had. Kaer Morhen's new guests have been here scarcely more than an hour and already Geralt feels overwrought and, though he'd never admit it, a little sensitive.

Geralt decides to retreat to his quarters, and if maybe he takes the long way round to avoid the library and the no doubt prying questions of the other Witchers, who's to know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!! I'm sorry for such a short chapter after so long a wait, but i'm now on two weeks of leave from work and I'm hoping to mostly focus on my writing for that so with any luck there'll be much more to come!!  
> Thanks for sticking through it 😂✌


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triss comes to talk some sense into Geralt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that took me longer than i thought it would! it absolutely didn't go in the direction I thought it would, and there is a /lil/ smooching between Triss and Geralt but mostly they just talk about /feelings/ (shudder)
> 
> The layout of Geralts bedroom is based on the one in the "Kaer Morhen" sequence in Witcher 3 which some of you might recognise 😂
> 
> This chapter was actually beta'd 😱😱 huge thanks to [jcp_sob_rjl_lmep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcp_sob_rjl_lmep) for making sure I made any kinda sense lmao
> 
> Enjoy! 💖

Geralt's solitude is interrupted far sooner than he'd hoped for. The knocking at his door is far too polite to be any of the other Witchers, Ciri surely wouldn't bother to knock, and he doubts that either Jaskier or Yennefer would be wanting to talk to him again so soon.

His suspicion is confirmed when he opens the door to Triss, who's looking studiously innocuous. She's holding a plate topped with a variety of food: bread, cheese, fruits, nuts, and preserved meats from the kitchens. In the other hand she also holds a pair of tankards, as well as a bottle of wine tucked under her arm. Geralt regards her offerings with a smile.

"Now, I know you'd never admit to wanting the company, but I thought you might appreciate lunch." Geralt steps aside, allowing her to brush past him with a smirk. He follows along after the mage as she heads confidently to the table by the balcony, setting out her assortment of goods and settling down on the only chair there not stacked high with books.

Geralt refrains from joining her for the moment, choosing instead to lean against a pillar of the grand fireplace at the centre of the room, his arms crossed lightly against his chest in wait for the interrogation he's anticipating. Triss lounges back in her chair and regards him curiously.

"So, Geralt, seems you're bound to be even more taciturn than usual." Geralt scoffs soundlessly at her words, and her smirk grows as she continues, "I've already informed Ciri, as well as the other Wolves, of course. Lambert is _delighted_ by the development, naturally." 

She watches Geralt's bemused reaction, but her own expression sobers. "We can talk about it, if you want."

Geralt raises his eyebrows pointedly, but Triss just rolls her eyes and taps the side of her head. "I can always eavesdrop, if you're in the mood for a proper conversation, though I know avoiding the issue is already quite in character for you."

Geralt heaves out a sigh and inclines his head in concession before pushing himself off the pillar to join Triss at the table. The small pile of books he moves from his chair to the floor are a collection of histories he's sure he told Ciri to return to the Keep's library weeks ago, though it's somewhat heart-warming to find her things scattered throughout his space, as if they belong here.

Triss nudges the plate of food towards him, as well as one of the tankards, now generously filled with sweet wine. One sniff of the heady liquor is enough to recognise it as some of the personally brewed stock Triss herself had brought to the keep when she'd first agreed to visit here for Ciri's training. The kind almost definitely distilled with a little chaos.

 _'Are you trying to get me drunk, sorceress?'_ Geralt projects his thoughts, suspecting Triss of half-listening in already. The coy smile she gives in return certainly confirms both of these suspicions.

"Well, can you blame me? It's hard work getting you to be forthcoming at the best of times." Geralt chuckles silently, barely more than a huff of breath, and gestures for Triss to go ahead as he tucks into his meal. The mage deliberates for a moment, likely wondering where to start, and Geralt waits patiently.

"All that's happened with Yennefer, I think I've managed to piece together most of it. But this business with the bard has me intrigued. By all rights, the whole continent should've heard about a falling out between the two of you." Triss traces the woodgrain of the table idly as she muses aloud, her eyes never leaving Geralt.

 _'Perhaps that's not what pays.'_ Geralt suggests dismissively, reflexively, but almost immediately flinches, regretting his harsh choice of words.

Triss's tone is carefully non-judgemental when she responds, but Geralt can still sense the well-deserved admonishment behind the neutral statement. "You seem to hold such low esteem for someone who once thought so highly of you."

 _'I don't, it's just-'_ Geralt frowns as he searches for what he's trying to say. _'Bad habit.'_

Triss says nothing, and though Geralt can see the curiosity spark in her eyes, she just waits for him to elaborate further.

 _'He was... A friend. A good friend. Better than I deserve.'_ Geralt looks down into his tankard to avoid the sorceress' disarming gaze. _'And I spent the better part of that friendship pushing him away, or trying to - he never let me, the relentless bastard. Until-'_

Geralt drains the last of his wine and sets the tankard down, picking up an abandoned quill to busy his hands with. _'We were in Caingorn, on that damned dragon hunt. Things with Yennefer... came to a head. And he was there, he was just_ always there _. So, I took it out on him, and he left. After that, everything with Nilfgaard, with Ciri, and Yennefer..."_ Geralt pauses again, swallowing dryly around the words he couldn't bare saying.

 _'I blamed him for all of my life's troubles and abandoned him for two years in the middle of a war.'_ Geralt longs to give an excuse or explanation for this, but he had none. In truth Jaskier's company, his usefulness, his safety, none of it had a part in Geralt's decision not to seek him out, for there had never been one. He had simply fallen back to the old, easy habit of solitude.

Triss watches him ruminating on his actions, his mistakes, and pours him out another generous helping of wine. He tries for a grateful smile that he's sure doesn't quite hit the mark. She seems to be deliberating something as she lets him stew, his hands now absently picking apart a poor piece of bread into smaller and smaller crumbs.

"What is it you want, Geralt?" The query she settles on doesn't startle him, as such, yet it echoes around his mind and tugs at a lifetime of memories.

All this life Geralt has tried to want nothing more than to just walk the Path and live the life he was made for. Along comes an obnoxiously friendly bard, a dangerously beautiful sorceress (or two), a child of surprise, and all of Geralt's priorities are thrown into disarray. And, as before, all he wants is some damn _peace,_ but he barely knows what that even _means._

Nervous energy pushes Geralt up and away from the table, and from Triss with her questions. His legs carry him out onto the balcony, overlooking much of the keep, and the valley below. Keen eyes catch sight of a pair of figures sitting together on a crumbling outer wall, prompting the tightness in his chest to return.

For just a moment, Geralt imagines allowing himself to want _everything._ To want Yennefer, prove their connection as real and become as important to her as she is to him. To want Jaskier, earn a place back at his side and appreciate him in all the ways he should have before. To want a life for Ciri, the life of love, _of peace_ , that she deserves. But it just feels like a dream. A beautiful, impossible dream.

Triss comes up beside him and he's struck by a pang of guilt at the thought of her, and whatever it is they have together, not a part of that dream. From the look on her face when he meets her gaze, she already knows this.

 _'Triss...'_ Geralt starts, suddenly aware of the position the sorceress has put herself in, that _he's_ put her in. His heart aches a little at the small, sad smile she wears, but feels Triss' hand cover his, warm and reassuring against the cold stole of the balcony railing.

"It's okay, Geralt." Her tone is so sincere it forces a sigh from him, desperately grateful for her presence in this moment. Triss's fingers lightly trace the scars and veins across the back of his hand as she speaks. "I think you and I both know this was never meant to be anything serious." 

She looks away, collecting deeper emotions before teasing lightly, "After everything, we both just needed a little fun." It pulls a silent chuckle from him, and he nudges her shoulder gently with his in response.

"But this?" She turns back to Geralt with a smile significantly less teasing than he's used to, and then gestures down over the railing. The two distinct figures can still be seen sitting together at the edge of the Keep, their conversation too distant for even a Witcher's keen hearing to catch. " _This_ feels like something that's meant to be serious.”

"And something fun, if you let it." Triss's lighter tone returns but it's still just shy of teasing, just a little too earnest, a little too knowing. "Something more."

Those very words send more echoes through Geralt's thoughts, catching on his first memories of Triss, and they draw a wry smile from him. _'It's been a long time since I was allowed to have troubles as simple as monsters and money. Perhaps that is what I want.'_ He says, knowing he only half means it, now.

"I don't believe that for a second." Triss returns, and Geralt bows his head slightly to concede the point.

She flips his hand over in her palm and threads their fingers together, squeezing gently for a moment before letting go completely. Instead, her hand comes up to his face, fingers tracing delicately along his jaw, across his cheekbone. Geralt can't help but lean into it and bring his own hand up to cup her face, his thumb gently grazing just below her lip.

They come together slowly, softly, and the kiss feels... final, but not sad. A thank you, but not a goodbye. They part just as slowly, foreheads resting together to savour the feeling for just a moment longer.

Geralt is the first to step away, turning back out to the open air with a sigh. Again, his gaze travels, searching, across the grounds and back to Yennefer and Jaskier, still deep in conversation. Again, he is struck by the awkward position that Triss must find herself in.

 _'You don't have to-'_ He clears his throat as he addresses her, gaze still averted. The words tumble haltingly from his thoughts. _'...Stay, that is. If it's uncomfortable.'_

Triss is silent for a beat, but the response is just her familiar, cheery self. "But come on," she intones, gesturing theatrically over the railing again. "These views."

She laughs easily, drawing out Geralt's own quiet huff with a friendly nudge like he'd given her before. "And besides, it's only uncomfortable if we make it so." It's somewhat reassuring, though it seems a bit like wishful thinking.

"Come on, I don't know about you, but I could do with some more wine." Tension mostly dispelled, Triss tugs him away from the balcony and he goes easily. They've almost fallen back into their familiar companionship when something in the atmosphere changes.

Geralt is generally used to the faint hum of his medallion whenever he's in the company of a sorceress, but it abruptly begins humming against his sternum in earnest. A look at the deep furrow between Triss's eyebrows suggests she likewise senses something amiss.

And all of a sudden Geralt feels as if he's been doused in ice-water. The cold takes a firm grip inside his ribcage, stealing his breath and squeezing his heart. He looks to Triss with fearful eyes and his thoughts mirrored in hers.

"Jaskier?" She concludes, reaching to steady Geralt with a hand as he sways slightly in place. Geralt shakes his head, trying to free himself of the freezing sensation and redirect his thoughts.

 _'Yennefer.'_ Geralt pushes the single panicked word out towards Triss, the sorceress hot on his heels as he stumbles his way out of the room as fast as he can manage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter ending on a cliffhanger? Groundbreaking 🙄
> 
> Did i /mean/ to write a Triss/Geralt break-up scene when I started this chapter? Gods no  
> Did i go ahead and do it anyway? Apparently yes 🤣🤣🤣
> 
> Comments feed the beast 😝


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer tries her hand at being comforting, and Jaskier shows his gratitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!! boy would you look at the time phew 😬😅  
> yeah i'm sorry this one has taken so long! burnout hit me like a freight-train and this chapter just refused to come together properly! but, i hope this makes up for it, exciting stuff!  
> please enjoy!! 🥰😘

It's easy enough for Yennefer to find the bard, he hasn't gone far, and the afternoon sun shines clear on the Kaer Morhen grounds. Yennefer can even faintly hear the plucking of a melancholy tune on the wind from where Jaskier has set himself up on a mostly sturdy-looking wall overlooking the valley. She sees him tense slightly as he hears her approaching footsteps, but he doesn't otherwise acknowledge her.

When Yennefer sits herself down beside him, he breathes out a long sigh. When he turns to look at her there's something unspeakably tired in his crystal-blue eyes, and the feeling echoes in his voice when he asks, "Have you come to scold me, Yennefer?"

"Actually," she says, her mouth pinching as if she can't quite believe herself that she's saying it, and to Jaskier's infinite surprise she's sure, "I came to see if you're alright."

"Hmm," he intones, and then chuckles softly. "I take your lack of urgency to mean that Geralt is alright?"

Yennefer doesn't bother trying to hide the amused smirk breaking across her face. "Oh, he's fine. Awfully quiet though."

Jaskier's brows draw together quizzically and as much as Yennefer revels in seeing him so confused, she feels compelled to explain, to reassure him.

"You stole his voice," she says conspiratorially, watching his reaction from the corner of her eye. But, instead of amusement, as Yennefer expected, Jaskier's frown grows frightfully serious as he looks down at his hands, splayed palm-up atop his knees, his lute lying forgotten across his lap.

"Whatever this is, it's getting worse," he eventually says, in an uncharacteristic display of solemnity. "I don't know what's happening to me."

Yennefer hesitates. She'd come prepared to commiserate with the bard over Geralt's continued reckless attempts at reconciliation. This, however, is something entirely different. Something Yennefer's certain she can't be the best comfort for.

She shifts uncomfortably in place before (not _awkwardly,_ because Yennefer is never _awkward_ ) brandishing the small bag Jaskier had left behind. "I'm assuming you must be hungry and hoping there's actually some provisions left in here."

Jaskier manages a small smile as he takes the bag from her and rifles around inside. With a vaguely enthusiastic and triumphant "Aha!" Jaskier pulls out a pouch of nuts and dried fruit, and a couple of apples.

Yennefer takes the fruit offered to her and rolls it in her palms. "This chaos... There's a chance I may be able to help you resist it, or even harness it. If you'd like."

"Why would you do that?" There's scepticism there, but also genuine curiosity, and Yennefer has to tamp down on her automatic defensiveness.

Instead, she tries for joking, giving Jaskier's shoulder a nudge with her own as she says, "I mean, it's almost like you paid me to help you."

Jaskier huffs out a laugh, but there's still something incredulous in his expression, as if he still can't quite believe Yennefer capable of being _civil_ with him. She can't really fault him on that. He hums under his breath and his gaze drifts back to the wilderness beyond the wall.

Now, it's not that the bard's uncharacteristic pensive demeanour has her _worried_ , or _concerned_ or anything like that, it's just _different_ , and uncomfortable. So, Yennefer decides to change the subject to try and draw out a more familiar Jaskier.

With as much nonchalance as she can muster, she tries, "So, tell me. Why ' _Dandelion'_?"

Jaskier regards her curiously for a long moment, and she fears briefly that he might just turn back and continue his silence, leaving her to stew in the minor embarrassment. But to her relief he sets down his lute and bag, lounging back onto his palms, frowning thoughtfully.

"Well, I suppose that's several not terribly complicated questions in one," Jaskier muses. "The first being perhaps, 'Why is it you have travelled under an alias?' In which case I must remind you that my name is very much _already_ a pseudonym."

Yennefer mirrors his relaxed position as she listens to him speak, rolling her eyes at the slight jab at her supposed lack of observational skills. Jaskier gives another amused hum when he catches sight of it and goes on.

"The follow up to that then being, of course 'Why have you travelled under a _different_ moniker?' which is easy enough to answer. Every time I tried to introduce myself as _Jaskier,_ I found myself having to explain the whole ordeal, which quickly became altogether _far_ too tiresome. So, I just stopped trying to convince people I was _Jaskier_ entirely."

Watching him speak is almost surreal, and Yennefer finally pins down the source of her subconscious discomfort; Jaskier is so _still_. Though it's a small shock to realise, Yennefer has never known the bard not to display some form of emphatic movement, from absent fiddling to wild gesticulating. It has her watching him far more closely than she normally would to discern the true meaning in his words.

If he notices this finer scrutiny, it doesn't show as he continues, "The final question I suppose being, "Why would I decide to name myself _Dandelion_ , of all things?' which again has a rather simple answer; I like it. Dandelion is as good a name as any. After all, what's one flower to another? And I couldn't very well go about calling myself _Julian."_ He shudders dramatically, but the sly glance he throws her way shows his jest.

Yennefer takes it as a call to return to light-hearted teasing, so she indulges him, "And what did the people think of the great trobairitz, _'Dandelion'_?" The amused smirk this pulls from Jaskier is strangely satisfying, which Yennefer decides not to delve deeper into.

"Actually, most people just assumed I was some fanatic or ex-lover of myself, which was amusing, if nothing else." The smile he gives Yennefer is definitely more genuine than she's seen from the bard in a while, which is reassuring. "But it's sometimes hard to sway a crowd with talent alone, a bard is naught without their reputation, after all."

Unbidden, Yennefer is drawn into the image of herself dropped into a world devoid of her commanding reputation and fights off a shiver. While a bard's reputation might not be quite as demanding of respect as that of a powerful and fearsome sorceress, she can see what protections his recognition must have afforded him over the years. Though she's also keenly aware of the bard's less respectable reputation, that affords him quite the opposite of _protection._

"Tell me, does Dandelion now share the same colourful reputation as her predecessor?" Jaskier laughs heartily at the question.

"Wouldn't you like to know, sorceress." His head rolls lazily on his shoulder to look at her, soft locks falling across his face in a way that he _must_ find annoying. "But yes, it's hard not to, really. I do have something of a weakness for the beauty of this world, regardless of these pesky ‘ _affectations’_. I am still _me,_ after all."

Yennefer rolls her eyes at the statement, but the tone is an indication of Jaskier returning a little to his normal self, so she doesn't judge it too harshly.

"Is it uncomfortable, being changed?" Yennefer asks softly but worries that she's ruined his mood again when Jaskier just regards her quietly for a moment. Though, his tone is still more thoughtful than forlorn when he answers.

"Sometimes." He says, and one of his hands comes up to pick absently at a button on the front of his doublet. "Not always, and not always the same way."

He pauses for a moment and Yennefer lets him think, sensing further explanation. A frown settles across his face as he starts into what becomes a small tirade. "I mean, for starters, I've certainly learned some things. Namely, just how _awful_ it can be for women on this godforsaken continent. Especially travelling, especially alone."

Distaste twists his face further, as well as a touch of guilt. "I'm sorry to say that I've been quite remiss in taking notice of such things around me, and it discomfits me to have been complicit in it. A lesson for the better, perhaps."

Yennefer barks out a short laugh. "Took you long enough to notice, bard." He meets her gaze but shifts away quickly.

"Yes, well. That's not to say I was _completely_ ignorant, but you could say I've now found a more nuanced understanding in the difference between courtesy and _respect_. Even from 'nice' men, perhaps especially." Yennefer resists rolling her eyes, the sincerity in his tone lessening some of her incredulity.

"Maybe there's the reason for your curse, then? To teach you a lesson regarding the finer points of unsavoury attitudes towards womenfolk," Yennefer responds, only half teasing.

"Maybe so," Jaskier concedes, and meets her eye again, darkly amused. They sit in the thought for a moment.

When Jaskier speaks again, he's quiet, almost hesitant, and he's looking back out into the countryside. "I've read a little about the Enchantments of Aretuza mages. Not much, but some. Perhaps you, more than anyone, would understand how it feels to be a certain way one day, and then another the next."

Jaskier turns to face her fully, wide blue eyes piercing and imploring, soft voice tentative and unsteady. "Do you miss it, your before?"

Yennefer is struck dumb. This is not at all what Yennefer expects the bard to say. She feels her shoulders tense and her jaw clench in a subconscious reminder of long ago. Seeming to realise the invasiveness of the question, Jaskier flushes a deep red and averts his eyes.

"Shit! Sorry, no that was _wildly_ inappropriate. You don't have to answer that. Forget I asked, _please._ " Yennefer's jaw is still clamped shut as he finishes rambling away his apology.

Yennefer can tell that Jaskier is quietly fretting as she slowly unlocks her jaw. She's not entirely sure what her response might be. She doesn't feel _angry_ at the question, just shocked. In a display of sincerity that surprises even herself, Yennefer answers, "I'm afraid it's probably not as comparable as you think. My transformation was likely more akin to our dear Witcher's than your own. A trial by fire, of sorts."

Jaskier regards her for a moment, several expressions crossing his face. There's something that might be pity, followed quickly by something that suggests he knows Yennefer wouldn't appreciate such a thing, followed by a pinched sadness of which Yennefer cannot imagine the cause.

Until, that it, Jaskier asks quietly, "Is that what he is? Our Witcher? I think perhaps not anymore. If he ever was."

Yennefer wants to say something, to reassure him somehow. But her mind drifts to Ciri, likely the same direction as his own, who has a real, _true_ claim on Geralt like they never will. Forged by destiny itself, and not circumstance or cheap tricks. So, Yennefer is at a loss.

Jaskier thinks for a long moment, and Yennefer can’t even imagine where his thoughts might lead, as she realises that she doesn’t know him at all, not really. Just as she’s starting to doubt her reasons for coming out to join him at all, he speaks, quiet and sombre. 

"That first year... I would have forgiven him so easily, I was so ready to forgive him. If he'd sought me out, or if we'd even just run into each other. But the longer I waited the clearer it was that he'd meant what he said that day."

"After everything; the fall of Cintra, the battle of sodden hill, and finally this uneasy truce we’re under, it’s really confirmed it. I knew then that either he was dead, or he genuinely didn't care enough to tell me otherwise. How am I supposed to forgive him for that?"

Yennefer thinks of the earth-shattering relief Geralt had shown when they'd finally found her after the battle. She thinks of the shameful relief she had allowed herself to feel knowing he had survived, along with his child surprise. And she thinks of Jaskier; safe, but _alone_ , surrounded by news of chaos and death, without even an ounce of relief. Until he'd heard she was alive.

She's not sure how he'd ever be able to forgive either of them. Hesitantly, and to her own utter astonishment, Yennefer rests a hand lightly on Jaskier’s shoulder, an attempt at comfort.

“Perhaps,” She says, hating the way she sounds almost _kind,_ but also, not quite hating it. “Perhaps you don’t need to forgive.”

Jaskier eyes her sceptically, not entirely sure of her meaning, she thinks. She frowns and rearranges the thoughts in her mind. “Do we really need to give our forgiveness in order to move forward? We could just try starting fresh, both better off for knowing what we’re up against, from the get-go.”

She smirks a little with the last line, hoping it might spread to Jaskier too, and relieved when his eyes crinkle the slightest amount in the corners.

“I’m not quite sure it works that way,” he says, still deeply sceptical. “But… I suppose I could be willing to try, so long as I have adequate back up, you see.”

Yennefer’s smirk widens into almost a grin at the tease in his voice, and she’s surprised at herself at how relieved she is at Jaskier’s improving mood. “I suppose I could be convinced to act as back up, if you promise to provide me with plenty of wine.”

Jaskier frowns, but it’s light-hearted. “I’m not actually sure I can do that, I’m not sure how well I’ll do at trying to loot the cellars of a Witcher keep. Though, it might be fun to try.”

“Actually,” he murmurs, his frown deepening for the barest of moments before he goes rummaging around in his bag again. With a triumphant “Aha!”, much more enthusiastic than when he’d produced their food earlier, Jaskier pulls out a half-full wineskin that Yennefer thought they had finished on the road days ago.

“How many of those do you have stashed away?” She asks, half suspicious, half amused.

Jaskier pouts dramatically, “This is my last, I’m afraid. I will have to throw myself at the mercy of the Witchers for more, after this is finished.”

“A bold sacrifice, then.” Yennefer teases, but doesn’t make a grab for the wineskin when Jaskier offers it in her direction. “If we’re going to start on the day drinking, perhaps we should head back inside?”

Jaskier scowls, but concedes, “You’re probably right. I’d hate to tumble over a pile of rubble in a drunken stupor.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes as he shoots her a cheeky wink, and she gathers her skirt in a palm and stands as gracefully as she can manage. To her own surprise, once Yennefer is on her feet she turns and offers a hand to the bard to do the same. A little wide-eyed, but still grinning, Jaskier takes the extended hand easily.

The zap that passes between them at the contact is nearly overwhelming. They freeze for barely a moment, before Yennefer moves to yank her hand free, but Jaskier chases after it, holding tight.

"Wait," he breathes. There's a fear in his eyes, but also something else, determination, maybe? He looks at her, so frightfully earnest.

"Do you trust me?"

_No!_ Yennefer wants to insist, but her instincts are screaming otherwise. So, she nods once, slowly, not taking her eyes off the bard. He pulls himself up to stand before her, their hands clasped between them, eyes not leaving each other’s.

Something seems to seize hold from deep within Jaskier. Yennefer can feel the chaos bleeding out of him, binding them both in place, her own chaos inside her riling against the intrusion. _This must be what it had been like with Tissaia_ , she thinks to herself, one hand with a tight grip on Jaskier's, the other clenching around a fistful of her skirt.

Jaskier is compelled a step forward, his moments awkward and jerky, as if not totally his own. All Yennefer can do is watch uneasily as he closes the distance, his free hand coming to hover right over Yennefer's heart, fingers just barely brushing over her collarbone.

The world around them seems to slow, and Yennefer feels something building beneath the bard’s fingertips. The both of them are holding their breath, like the very air from their lungs might disturb the moment. The frown between Jaskier’s eyebrows deepens as his palm closes around seemingly nothing, knuckles white with the strength of his grip, and slowly, _so slowly,_ he _pulls._

Yennefer is suddenly cold all over. Something that feels entirely different to _her own_ chaos fights against the pull, and it leaves Yennefer shaking and gasping for air. Jaskier’s movement is steady and unwavering, and his gaze drops from Yennefer’s eyes to watch his hand as it moves from barely a hairsbreadth to an inch or so away from her chest.

"What-?" Yennefer stares with wide eyes and shudders against the sudden chill spreading within her. Yennefer can scarcely describe it, this feeling of three distinct and powerful forces of chaos warring within her.

Then Yennefer can _see it_ being drawn from within her, this sliver shadow fluttering after Jaskier's hand like a frantic butterfly. Slowly his hand opens and cups it in the air, the shadow fighting and twisting in his palm, as if caught in a spider’s web. After a long moment of struggling, the shadow calms for just a moment before dissipating into the air like smoke.

Almost as quickly as it had appeared, the cold sensation disperses, replaced by a warmth that spreads from her chest all the way to the tips of her finger and toes. Yennefer feels her own chaos settling beneath her skin as the intruding power fades from her limbs, still vigilant, but soothed in a way Yennefer hadn’t even realised she needed. 

After a beat, Jaskier speaks, his voice hoarse, "What in the ever-loving fuck was that?"

"The _wish_ ," Yennefer quietly breathes out, somewhat mortified to feel unshed tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. She relaxes her hands from the death-grip she has on her skirt and Jaskier’s hand, her heart and thoughts racing. What possible force has the power to forcibly dispel a djinn’s wish? And what business does it have attaching itself to a _bard_?

Yennefer eyes the troubadour in question and sees no explanation in the bewildered expression he wears. With his hands free, he just stands there clenching and unclenching them, looking between his palms and Yennefer quizzically, a little awed.

The both of them start at the sound of footfalls approaching, and Yennefer turns to see that Geralt and Triss have rushed over to them from inside the Keep and- _oh._

The feeling that swoops in Yennefer's stomach at the sight of Geralt is nothing new, only that it _is, completely._ There's none of that _pull,_ none of that _urgency,_ but it's certainly not _nothing_. That familiar look of utter, world-shaking relief on Geralt's face is evidence of the remaining intensity, the _sincerity_ of his own emotion. Yennefer's hand lifts to hover over the memory of sensation of Jaskier's touch on her collarbone.

_"Fuck,"_ The word is barely breathed out from her lips, but she sees the way Geralt's eyes narrow infinitesimally, and she knows that he's heard it.

“Yennefer?” Triss’ gaze is flitting back and forth between the three of them, brows drawn together in confusion.

Yennefer shakes her head slightly, trying to dismiss the other sorceress's no doubt burning questions, at least for the moment, and noting with concern the way Jaskier sways ever so slightly where he stands before her. Three sets of eyes snap to the unsteady bard as he teeters forward, stumbles, and loses his footing entirely.

“Jaskier!” Yennefer reaches out to him with a cry, but Geralt already has him, arms looped around his torso to save him from the free-fall right onto his face.

“You’re welcome,” Yennefer hears Jaskier slur quietly, before sagging into Geralt’s hold, unconscious. Geralt glares at her, suspicious, and she holds back a scoff at the expression.

After a beat, Triss voices what Yennefer is sure they’re all thinking, in an echo of the bard’s own words only moments prior, “So, what the fuck was that, Yennefer?”

Yennefer takes in the tableau before her, feeling almost hysterical. Geralt standing silent, stoic, and suspicious as his gaze never wavers from Yennefer, Jaskier slumped back against his chest, head lolling on his shoulder, and Triss hovering between them, confused and concerned.

“Well,” Yennefer says with a deep sigh, composing herself carefully in the face of their scrutiny. “It seems like our fool of a bard here, or whatever it is hiding inside him, has just taken on a djinn wish.”

Yennefer catches Geralt’s eye, the weight of the revelation not lost on her, and tries to take a moment of satisfaction in the way Geralt gapes at her, but even she is a little bit in awe, and a little bit terrified, of all that it means. “And won.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments, i try to respond as much as i can but basically got hit with "no thats too overwhelming why dont we go have a nap instead" but i am definitely still reading them and loving them 🥰🥰
> 
> Also, if you haven't seen it, i've also started a new series called "CatSpotting" for a series of shorts about school of the cat, the Part 1 is up and it's Cat Witcher Jaskier and Geralt (and smooching). Part two will be Cat Witcher Yennefer and Triss and some delightful "herbal remedies" 😏😏 don't ask me when though, eventually, eventually


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